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Shares
When you travel, when you are the one fleeting from islands to jungles, from caves to turquoise seas, you never expect to be the one left behind. But when my travels took a standstill in Japan, I settled into a share house and I never thought I’d find so much warmth and love, and a feeling that one cannot grasp, a feeling of belonging. Home is not necessarily where you start, it’s a feeling inside that you take with you always, it’s a feeling that the people around you bring about. I remember the night you left so vividly. The deep blue of the Kanagawa night sky was dotted with thousands of twinkling stars. It was just the four of us on the roof, our faces illuminated by nearby fairy lights and glimmering lamps. A few plant pots had been placed here and there, so in tune with the character we were bidding farewell. Always, be it plant, creature or person, she took care of them all. In fact it was impossible to escape her sweet and charming demeanour. With this thought trail, I think it must be true that no matter how old you get, you can always be just as charming, if not more radiant, with a fire that glows inside. When I first met Mariko-san, she instantly took a liking to me, her bright smile matching mine and her calm, peaceful aura encompassing what is so alike to a brilliant summers day. Anyone could instantly recognise her as the kind, attentive woman who cooked for those who could not afford ingredients, or simply lacked the know-how. She enjoyed my company as I with her and despite my lack of Japanese, we bonded in the kitchen over clattering metal pots that would often rile up our fellow housemate, then broken out of his immersion with an animation on T.V. She’d endearingly call me Laura-chan, in Japan this suffix refers to a young, cute girl. She took me under her wing, teaching me how to make bread with rice flour and turning recipes on their heads to make them pescatarian for me. She never once turned down a challenge but always accepted it head on and never without a smile. The language barrier never stood in the way of our laughing at our failed attempts in the kitchen or our nods in exchange for agreements. Often hand gestures with the words we knew in the others language started our conversation, and sometimes she’d speak as if I knew every word she was saying in sonic speed Japanese but there was a deeper understanding there, a mutual understanding, a friendship. Occasionally I’d return home from a long day and enter the kitchen to be greeted with “O-kai-ri” the Japanese word for welcome home and a delicately crafted Japanese sweet. A friendship born from love and smiles is a friendship that time cannot test. The lesson I learnt on the day I had to say goodbye will stay with me for a lifetime. Sometimes you have to let people make footprints on your heart, and then let them go because we are all walking through life, our roads intertwining but inevitably diverging. We have different adventures to embark on, different lessons to be learnt and ultimately different lives to lead. So, with this acceptance, we can just enjoy the company whilst it lasts. I’ll always remember the time that our paths intertwined, I’ll always hold our memories dear and I’ll never stop cooking your dishes. And when the opportunity arises, I will follow you North for another cooking extravaganza. Till next time, Mariko-san.