only thing constant is change / 変わり
Change is an odd thing; it’s inevitable and not always positive.
As a child, I spent my elementary year summers in Japan with my grandparents. I attended an elementary school in rural Kyushu for two weeks to two months over the summers. (The Japanese school system runs on a trimester system, beginning in April and ending in March, while American school systems usually are semester systems, starting in August and ending in May). In addition to schooling, I participated in countless experiences for which I am forever grateful. Below is me, age ten, planting rice by hand in a flooded field. Farmers now use an automated planting process, but the school took my classmates and me to the area to teach us valuable lessons: to experience rice planting in the past, the hard work involved, and always to be thankful for food.
I was never bored on the daily walks to and from school; encapsulated by nature, how could I be? Dragonflies droning in the air, tadpoles swimming in the wet rice field, and an occasional snake gliding to its next [amphibian] meal; if you see frogs in a rice field, snakes tend to be nearby. There were also bamboo trees, whose green leaves draped over rails once-white, now masked with rust. One afternoon, I recall an older kid showing me how to make a mini-boat with these leaves. I rushed home to test it out in my grandparent’s bathtub. I had no idea what buoyancy was, but I was ecstatic to see my creation float. It floated quite well—until I inanely splashed water into its leafed hull. These were the days full of curiosity and no responsibilities.
Each year, the countryside town altered slightly, but not enough to obstruct its familiarity to me—but that was three years ago. My visit this summer was a shock. I heard the changes from my grandparents over FaceTime, but nothing could simulate (or startle me) like being physically there.
The road I walked to and from school still exists, but the walk is different, sad even. On the right, the rice fields and their amphibian cohabitants thrive—loud and well. On the left, all has changed. The field I once planted rice in was now six feet under the new freeway. The freeway and tunnel had been constructed to make driving through the mountainous landscape easier and more efficient. Even a FamilyMart convenience store has been built. The road I walked, once bustling with sounds of cicadas and crickets, is now flooded with the rushes of cars & trucks.
I know the advantages of this freeway and other infrastructure; it allows drivers to bypass the mountains to save time and offers them a safer driving route. I know the benefits, yet I still feel that not all “progress” is good. Progress needs to eject things of the past. I wish that time had stopped in the countryside; the nostalgia is comforting. Alas, we only fear change (and prefer routine) because it allows us to feel in control of our lives. The only things that remain are the good [& bad] memories I will cherish forever.
We must live in the moment, as things will never return to how they used to be. But, as always, I’m lost in the right direction.
(すみません、このエッセイは焦って書いたから、日本語の翻訳は酷いと思います。また来週もよろしくお願いします。)
人生が変わるのは微妙な事です。
子供の時、毎年、夏休みの間、近くの小学校で体験入学しました。この学校は、鎌手小学校と言います。
学校では、普通の国語、数学、理科、を勉強したり、近くの田んぼで、田植えもしました。この写真は、僕が十歳の時です。今は、自動で米を田植えするけど、昔のやり方を経験するように、農家と先生と一緒に植えました。この作業でお米の大切さを習いました。
学校に行く時は、毎日歩いて行きました。自然の中にいて、毎回歩く時違う事を見ました。とんぼや、田んぼの中のお玉杓子を見ながら歩きました。たまに、蛇も見ました;蛙がいる場所の近くは、蛇がそばにあります。道の横の一部分は竹があります。一回、僕の先輩が竹の葉っぱを使って、船の作り方を教えました。これを習った後、家のお風呂を使って、浮かぶように出来ました。浮力の事は全然知らなかったけど、浮かんでいるを見て面白かった。子供の時は、想像力がたっぷりで、責任の無しの暮らしでした。
毎年、田舎の町はちょっと変わっていたけど、驚くほどは無かった。この夏は、3年ぶりの日本で、かなり驚きました。フェイスタイムで町が変わっている情報を聞いたけど、実際いかないと、分からなかった。
学校まで歩いた道はまだあるけど、風景が全然違うです。右側は、昔とおんなじて田んぼはまだあります。でも、左側は、かなり進化しました。僕が田植えした田圃は、立派な道路になりました。この道路とトンネルは山道を通らなくて良いように建てられました。近くに、コンビニも立った。
新しい道の良さはわかるけど、微妙な感じです。進んでいるけど、僕の一部が、寂しいです。進むためには、昔の事を捨てないといけない。
一部は、田舎の時計が止まってほしい。昔の懐かしさは幸せの気分になります。でも、人生は今に生きているので、前に進まないといけない。昔の事は、二度と帰ってこない。