dealing with tragedy

Bin Laden is dead.

When I read the news on Twitter, I was struck by the empty feeling I always feel when I hear news of someone's death. Every time I get shocked, by the fact that someone who has been alive and breathing until just a second ago can be gone in the next. I was by no means sad, knowing what he has done, but when I began to see reactions from American people on the internet, I couldn't help but feel a wave of estrangement.Those were words of joy, excitement and celebration, none of which, to me, fit the occasion--whoever it was that died, it was an occasion of a death (or, in fact, four deaths, as the news later reported).

For all he did, he probably deserved to die. The world is most likely safer and better off without him. He was, after all, the leader of a bunch of terrorists.

But then, who ever deserves to die, really?

Two weeks after the earthquake on March 11, a boy gave a speech at his graduation ceremony at a junior-high in a town by the northern coast where so many people died from the tsunami. Tearful and clenching his teeth with sadness, he said;

"The disaster took away too many precious things from us. It was brutal. We are sad. It is really, really painful. But in this hardship, we should not resent. We should accept what happened and live on, supporting each other. I believe that's the mission for those of us who survived."

The situation is not the same. It wasn't other human beings that cast the tragedy upon us. It wasn't anybody's hatred. There would be no way of revenge even if we wanted it--how would we chase down, catch and kill nature? We never know if Japan wouldn't have wanted a revenge if it had been a human being attacking and causing this much devastation to our country, so it's not about Japan and America. It's about how we get over such devastation, the kind that keeps you up all night in fear and makes you bawl in helplessness and despair.

It's hard not to resent when you are in so much pain and sadness. It's hard not to hate when you lost things that were precious to you. But in all the brutality of what had happened, this fifteen-year-old guy refused to resent, and I find it extremely brave, because it's probably even harder. Resentment, anger, hatred, things like these can get you moving. It takes energy to give up on these and still try to move forward.

But that is the start, I believe, if we want to step ahead for the better.

So maybe we should stop rejoicing over another death, because after all what's behind the seemingly exhilarating joy is hatred, and such joy is in fact empty. This death doesn't cancel thousands and thousands that preceded. This death doesn't bring us back what we've lost.

The sad, but maybe comforting, fact is that there seems to be only a little we can do when something extremely sad falls upon us. We can just grieve and cry over whatever makes us cry writhing and fists gripping for as long as we need to, somehow leave that behind, and keep on.

That's the only way out, and we are all brave enough for that.

a young boy's voice from iwate

Today, I read heartbreaking  journal entries by Yuta Hakoishi, a twelve-year-old boy from Yamada, Iwate, a town that was severely damaged by the tsunami. Here's an English translation that I did on a whim (the original can be found here).

March 11, 2011

We were practicing a song for our graduation ceremony. A big earthquake came and shook us really hard. At first, I thought it was just an earthquake. There was a large tsunami warning, but I didn't think it was really going to happen. Even if it did, I didn't think the waves would be that high. I was totally wrong. I saw wrecked houses and buildings being swept away by water along Route 45. Mom and Dad were at my school before the tsunami. But then, Dad left in his pickup truck. I was worried about him. I prayed he wouldn't be swallowed by the tsunami.

March 18, 2011

It's been a week since the tsunami. Mom said she gave up on Dad because he hasn't been found after this long. Grandpa cried and said, "I'll build the house again and send you guys to school. Don't worry if your dad never comes back. I'll take care of you."

March 23, 2011

I graduated from Osawa Elementary. When we were singing a song, "Arigato (Thank You)," at the graduation ceremony, I was talking to Dad in my mind. "Dad, thanks to you, I finished school. Thank you, Dad." Then, somehow, my voice got shaky and I got a little teary. I had a dream that night. In the dream, Mom and Dad came home from grocery shopping at the supermarket in Miyako.

March 25, 2011

My relative got a phone call. They said Dad had been found near the fire department. We hurried there and saw him lying with his mouth open. My big sister cried so hard. Mom was speechless. My little brother was clinging to my relative. I touched Dad's face. It was colder than water.
In my head, I kept asking Dad, "Why did you leave the school?" I asked that over and over. I also told myself, "You gotta be strong." But my eyes got all teary. He still had his things on, like the titanium accessories, the charm for his feet that he had bought in Tokyo, the wedding ring and the cell phone. I was really surprised his watch was still working. It never stopped working when it was swallowed by the tsunami with my dad and even when my dad stopped breathing. It is my watch now. I will always keep it with me for the rest of my life.

March 26-27, 2011

I can't forget Dad's face. A part of me wishes I had not seen him like that. But because we found him, we can cremate his body now. I got to touch him, too. His chest was bloated. I think he swallowed a lot of water. I'm still glad we found him.

March 28, 2011

We cremated Dad's body today. My sister, Keijiro, Mom, and I all wrote letters and put them in the casket with him. When we said goodbye to him, I told him, "Don't worry about us. I'll take over your job." I got to hold his bones until we had to put them in the grave. I felt relieved when we finally buried him properly.

April 7, 2011

Today, I feel like saying thank you from the bottom of my heart. People who read the article about us sent us letters and photos of Dad from when he ran the Tokyo marathon. There were letters to my family, and to me, too. My dad is amazing. I'm really thankful today.