“Why do you think cherry trees bloom? Once they do, their petals must fall right off.” – The Cherry Blossom Spirit

Why do people care so much when others die? People cry and cry, only to “get over it” and forget, never thinking about it ever again. “Here lies” so and so; people remembered, but no-one remembers why.

Walking home is always a chore. The trip through the sombre cemetery is hopelessly dull, but at least there’s some time to think about the ridiculous mourning ceremonies “are an essential and inevitable component of life”.

“Who is the father of psychoanalysis?”

Eyes flit in annoyance, remembering today’s lecture. Who needs to know who those people are? What they did was important, not who they were. Their names are overrepresented and their deeds, of no importance.

They’re dead.

A date.

A name.

Nothing less, yet nothing more.

 “A vacuum creates forgetfulness, and sooner or later, people will forget my existence”

Upon my return home, I’m greeted by the fragrance of flowers, too many for me to distinguish; the atmosphere is overwhelmingly nostalgic.

While I take of my shoes, and step into my slippers in the genkan, I become aware of a subtle change. On a small, worn table is a photo of him, enclosed by a small, glass frame; a thick border of white with a smaller black to finish the frame and with corners of silver. Beside the frame is a single stem from a cherry blossom, twisting, yet standing proud, in a small pond accompanied by a miniature lantern and a red bridge.

Gritting my teeth, I step further inside.

 “I’m home, mother.”

“Oh.” She doesn’t even look up from her work in the tall, porcelain vase on the tatami flooring, shielding the fragile stems from the biting wind which came uninvited with me, and waves a hand, motioning me to close the paper thin shoji doors, still refusing to even look at me.

She never respects the formality, “Welcome home” anymore.

“Who is that flower arrange…”

What’s the point? She won’t notice me.

It’s as if I didn’t even come home, silently arranging the peach blossoms, so the spaces between the flowers were uniform, that the arrangement, when seen from a certain angle was perfect, symmetrical, and flawless.