“So, what kind of Japanese trees do you like?” a friend asked me in the middle of our way to the airport. It was my departing day. My student exchange program was ended. I had to go back to Indonesia. The car was full of my friends, 8 peoples went to the airport to send me away.
“Hm, it is a hard question,” I responded it, thinking. I never thought that somebody will ask me that. But they chuckled because of my answer.
“It is an easy question!” my friend protested me.
“Hm, if you insist me to answer, maybe I like Momiji and gingko trees,” I answered while remembering golden carpets of fallen gingko leaves in front of Kumamoto city hall and the patch of fallen Tsubaki flower petals in between.
“Why?” other friend asked me.
“I think it is beautiful. I never see it in Indonesia.” I remembered a street full of Momiji near Osaka University, the red colour contrasted with the early winter blue sky.
“But I think, Sakura is more beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked my Japanese friends.
“I never see sakura before,” I added it sadly.
*
It is April, already, more than one year after I came back to this place. Last year, I was still struggling with my graduation project. And now, I struggle with what I want to do. The Sakura blooms and falls. Last year, some friends graduated. This year also, next year also. People moves to other live in another city. Once Fukuoka is my home, the next, it is only a city once I lived. But this city, this two-hundred-something city, is home.
Why do I not feel it is my home anymore?
“Hm, it is a hard question,” I responded it, thinking. I never thought that somebody will ask me that. But they chuckled because of my answer.
“It is an easy question!” my friend protested me.
“Hm, if you insist me to answer, maybe I like Momiji and gingko trees,” I answered while remembering golden carpets of fallen gingko leaves in front of Kumamoto city hall and the patch of fallen Tsubaki flower petals in between.
“Why?” other friend asked me.
“I think it is beautiful. I never see it in Indonesia.” I remembered a street full of Momiji near Osaka University, the red colour contrasted with the early winter blue sky.
“But I think, Sakura is more beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked my Japanese friends.
“I never see sakura before,” I added it sadly.
*
 |
| (Sakura besides river bank in Kyoto. Photo credit: A.D) |
It is April, already, more than one year after I came back to this place. Last year, I was still struggling with my graduation project. And now, I struggle with what I want to do. The Sakura blooms and falls. Last year, some friends graduated. This year also, next year also. People moves to other live in another city. Once Fukuoka is my home, the next, it is only a city once I lived. But this city, this two-hundred-something city, is home.
Why do I not feel it is my home anymore?
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