On April 1, 2018, my sisters, Robin and Carolyn, and I sat around a table 5,970 miles away from home.
Carolyn was entertaining us in Japan, her “new” home of the
last six years, during a whirlwind two-week vacation. It was towards the end of
the trip that we found ourselves seated around a magnificent display of the
freshest nigiri sushi at her friends’ house in Koga.
Mind you, when Carolyn makes friends in Japan, she tends to befriend
the entire family, from grandparents to grandchildren. The Yokoyama family was one
such example, and they were kind enough to invite into their home for dinner that
night.
Robin and I balled out on sushi—Carolyn preferred the non-seafood
options—while the grandpa plied us with gold-flecked sake. Hours flew by as we
conversed and joked through translations made by Carolyn and the adult Yokoyama
kids. Language barriers didn’t stop us from having a warm, engaging time.
As it was a weeknight and we didn’t want to overstay our
already four-hour welcome, we packed up to leave. The mom and kids looked dismayed—they
wanted to bring us to the sakura illuminations.
After loading up a bag of late-night snacks and Asahi Super
Dry (open-container is legal there 😊), we headed to the local park to walk among
the blooming cherry blossom trees as they were illuminated from the ground. We
stayed for another two hours meandering, snacking, talking. The magic of the night
instilled a level of contentment in me that I rarely experience.
For a brief second, I checked the time on my phone and
smiled. As I wound down my day among the cherry blossom trees after enjoying
six hours with the Yokoyama family, my friends at home were just waking up. It
was their turn to experience April 1, 2018.
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