The Flower Shop

by Rachel Faun (Japan)

Making a local connection Japan

I paced myself outside the flower shop, hopefully appearing to be an unsuspicious passerby. After walking by it twice, I decided to go in and get it over with. I was there to buy a bouquet of flowers for a friend of mine. To my relief, there was no one at the counter and so I felt no pressure in hurrying. I browsed quietly, debating in my head over which flowers would pair nicely, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the choices that lay in front of me. I must have looked bewildered because I heard a voice say, “Nani wo sagashite-imaska? What are you looking for?” I looked up and was greeted by a smiling old man. He had tousled grey hair and twinkling eyes that crinkled at his smile. “My friend likes pink.” I replied in my terribly odd Japanese, glancing around to find the right shade of pastel pink that my friend was awfully fond of. “A-ha. Then perhaps these?” The old man seamlessly picked out a couple of flowers, bound them together, and presented them to me. “Y-es, thank you.” I nodded politely. The old man walked to the back of the counter and placed the flowers on a clear plastic sheet. Pausing momentarily, he suddenly exclaimed, “She likes pink ne!”, to which I blurted, “Hai!”. There I stood, silently observing his hands skillfully unfold a bundle of pink ribbons. The only audible sound was the occasional snipping of scissors. I felt immensely out of place. The silence was uncomfortable and the awkwardness a lot to bear, at least for me. “Ohayo-gozaimasu! Good morning!” A lady walked in and greeted the old man. “It is very sunny today ne! Ah, the tulips look lovely! Perhaps I will get some,” she chirped, walking to where the tulips were at. I watched as the lady and the old man continued exchanging remarks over flowers, and I felt disappointed with myself for not striking up a conversation earlier. “What do you think?” The old man turned to me, a hint of pride and satisfaction in his tone. Before I could answer, he frowned. “Wait, no, this isn’t right. I’ll do it again.” I looked as he walked to the corner where his array of ribbons were majestically displayed, and I felt instant regret. “It’s okay…” I said weakly, hoping that my eyes conveyed the degree of remorse I felt for making him redo his craft. “No-no! It’s a gift, right?” He shook his head and continued wrapping the flowers. I smiled, my apologetic feelings turned to ones of gratefulness. Looking at him reminded me of my love for the Japanese people - how they genuinely care for the wellbeing of others, and how they would choose to go the extra mile just to see a smile on the other person’s face. My love for the people, the culture and the language had led me to live in this country for a little while. But somehow, in the busyness of life, I lost the first love that I had. This old man unknowingly set alight a dimming flame and brought that love back. For the first time in a long while, I felt relaxed and welcomed in a foreign place. I really wanted to return the favor. “So, are you the only one working here?” I asked politely, hoping that the window for small talk was still open. “Ah yes, only me and my wife. My son, he…”, and so the old man started recounting the story of how his son did not want to take over the family business, but was busy chasing after his dream elsewhere. Until today, I could not quite recall the story of his son, but the warm feeling I felt from the encounter stayed with me. Occasionally, I would think of the old Japanese man and wonder how he was doing. A year after, I walked by the flower shop again, just to see if the old man was there. Well, there was a man behind the counter wrapping flowers and chatting with customers. The man had that same twinkling eyes. I guessed his son took over the family business after all.