Certum scio

I often find myself amazed at the things I’ve come to know and the things that still remain far from my understanding. I know I had wanted to come to Japan for a very, very long time, but now that I’m here I’ve come to see that leading a life in this country does not equate to grasping its people and culture. What can I say about Japan after a year of isolation in a Japanese language institute in Tokyo? What can I say about it after a month of abnormally slow immersion in the world of Japanese education? I thought I knew so much, I thought everything had been given to me by that quiet boy sitting opposite to me that afternoon in summer camp. How wrong and naïve of me to believe that. Or maybe I just didn’t listen when he told me why he refused to go back to the air I so desperately wanted to breathe.

Somedays I ask myself what is it that I want to do after this strange cycle is over. Do I want to stay here? Will I become tired of hitting the impenetrable wall that keeps us outsiders from smelling the flowers from inside the garden? Will I ever become able to understand? Coming to this island means becoming unclad of all previous knowledge and struggle from the very beginning, renaming it all, pointing at birds and books and sounds with astounded innocent fingers.

Nevertheless, there is a little light shining in the dark path I crawl on, a light that has become stronger with every trembling inch I cover in this centipede race against myself: I know who I want to spend the rest of my life with. The certainty of this simple fact in my mind leaves me bedazzled every time I stumble upon it in my daily ponderings. If one thing, that one little thing remains in my heart, there is no way I could ever look back and say this lonely quest in the darkness has been anything but worthwhile.

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