The Imperial Palace of Kyoto where the Emperors of Japan have lived for generations, is located in front of the University. It is quite big and inside one of the Palace doors across the main gate of the university there was a special yard with cherry blossom trees.
I had already seen many beautiful cherry blossom trees in spring as I had been to Kyoto several times. Yet at the north end of the palace the tall, thick cherry blossom trees were blooming and drooping down to the ground in harmony. It was so graceful that it was beyond description.
One of them was 15 meter tall, not so thick, yet one of the branches stretched long into the side with cherry blossoms in full glory. I was consumed with its beauty, looking up and around it and touching it.
As cherry blossoms don’t stay that long, I visited the tree several times during my stay at Kyoto of a few days. Before leaving, I looked back feeling sorry to leave. Its trunk below the flowers met my eyes. I saw that its trunk was rough and bumpy and ran to hug and stroke the trunk.
I felt thankful and sorrowful that it was blooming numerous flowers despite its chapped branches which looked painful.
Everyone was looking up in admiration at the flowers in full bloom up in the tree.
Winter in a city with so many places to visit, I suddenly wanted to see that tree I used to see in spring when the flowers would bloom. As Kyoto is located south of Busan, I never felt cold there. Yet as it was winter, the tree was nonetheless bare, without leaves or flowers.
After finishing my schedule, I went to Kyoto imperial palace of winter.
The people I saw in spring were nowhere to be found. Every tree looked the same without leaves and flowers. They all looked similarly shabby.
And looking around and around, finally I found the tree I was looking for in dusk. The trunk that looked hollower than in spring, and its split, chapped figure made me tear up. Thinking that the tree would have tried its hardest to blossom, channeling water inside, though its endeavor invisible to us, I felt like the tree was like the sacrificing ‘mother of earth’ and felt sorry.
You will cheer me and people who have endured the long winter with your splendid blossoms in the next spring, won’t you? I talked to the living creature.
And every spring, including the spring of 2018, just like that, it didn’t disappoint.
I wrote many essays looking at the hope raining from the tree. I named it “a thousand years” and included it in my new book Why Kyoto as several essays.
And then last autumn, I entered the yard to find an awful surprise. Of the dozens of the trees, that tree that caught my eye the most with its glamourous flowers and its rugged and chapped trunk, its flower branches that used to soar and stretch long and droop down with pink cascade, they were completely cut off.
My god, the bare, thin trunk that was left looked horrible. I lost my words at the horrific sight. No one was around me.
I had seen media coverage of the temporary closure of Kansai airport due to typhoon last summer. I didn’t know that the flowers that used to light this world with its splendid light was cut away and only few branches that stretched up were all there was left.
I tried to console myself that it was fortunate that its roots didn’t get pulled out. But still I was devastated. How would it have felt when the big part of its life which used to blossom with all its life every day got chipped off?
I approached to give it a hug with a whole different meaning.
Thus far it has embraced me, and this time, I embraced it with all my heart.
Sorry sorry, I had no idea. You must have been so hurt with your arms cut. You must have suffered so much. Oh, I flopped down into a bench next to the tree which used to look like a big heart from the edge of the tree.
And I got up again. You can do it. The nature has taken what it has given you, but you can start all over again. You can take a step and then take another step. You’ve still got your trunk, water, air, and then the earth to rest your roots deep down. And the sun shines on the earth.
You can’t grow long branches in one day, but some day you will grow bigger than before. You can do it. I have seen you every year. You hold within yourself the fresh pinkish liquid. You should grow your branches, put forth leaves, and feed your pink extract into them. Above all, you have a life and a mission. You should overcome this ordeal and show hope to this world which needs much consolation with your glorious flowers. With a gift of the great delight.
This spring, I stroked the tree and came back to Korea. I have taught culture, art and humanities at a graduate school this semester, and I haven’t been able to move due to back pain since the last day of semester in June.
I remember telling the tree that day what I need to hear now.
This is also unexpected pain.
I canceled all my schedules. I can’t go to Kyoto which is only one hour away let alone much farther places. I hope to be able to rise when this winter passes and face the tree 'Thousand Years' again.
