A Promise

As funny as the whole motion sickness business was –especially afterwards, as some people pointed out– it prevented me from doing the one thing I needed to do while in Japan. I wanted to do a lot of things, of course, and I had plenty of reasons to go. But I needed to go to Koyasan.

Soon it’ll be one year since the death of my friend, Ryutaro. He died of pancreatic cancer, something I wasn’t able to write down while it was happening. It’s not that I was trying to escape from the reality of it, I think. But at thirty years old he was just too young. This is an illness that happens to older people. The name of it brought too many images of pain, and I couldn’t think of him like that.

Koyasan was his favourite place. He used to go there once a year at least, said he loved the “out of this world feel” of it. His ancestors were buried there and he, too, sleeps there now. Though not in a grave. I heard his ashes were scattered at the root of a tree, and I’m happy about that. I can picture him sitting there, his back against the trunk, looking up at the leaves. And I wanted so much to sit with him for a while. I know he was waiting for me. But going there meant four hours on a train, something I just couldn’t manage while I was in the area. Though now, with the luxury of distance, I wonder if that’s really true. Maybe I didn’t feel like the hassle of being sick. But I could have done it, maybe…

As the shinkansen pulled out of Kyoto station I did feel sick, and of course it was a welcome justification of my decision. But I felt him tugging at my heart, and I could have cried. I dreamed of him a few nights later. In the dream he told me he would die on Wednesday, and asked what time would be suitable for me because he wanted me to be there. I wonder if it was a soft reproach for not making time for him in my busy life, just because it was inconvenient. Though I know he wasn’t that kind of a person, and I guess he understands. Maybe it’s just me who isn’t convinced of the purity of my feelings. There’s a lot going on in my personal life, and maybe I was too preoccupied with myself to make an effort. But then, maybe he understands that too.

It feels like much longer than a year to me, the last time I heard from him. I’ve been wondering if I remember him correctly. And I start to doubt my feelings: did I really love him so very much, and why? But then today I reread some of his letters and, suddenly, it’s very easy to understand…

I know I will go back, of course. And next time I’ll make it autumn, his favourite season, and see the coloured leaves of Koyasan. I hope I’m worth waiting for, just a little longer. Forgive me, Ryu. I’ll be there, 約 束.