One year later, I went to the cram school on weekdays during
summer vacation by myself. I took the desperately crowded trains
in rush hour every morning. One day I was standing in the train
as usual, then suddenly became "anemic," poverty of blood in the
brain, which I came to know later. Being alone. I couldn't ask
strangers for help. After the train reached Shinjuku, I managed
to go up stairs with the blurry yellow view and called on my
mother. She told me to rest in the staff room and said "If you
don't get better, call again. I will pick you up." Although she
was far from an educational-minded mother, she was strict about
absence, It was rare for her to allow me to be absent from the
cram school. I was surprised and pleased with her words, but I
didn't do as she said-- I went to the school after recovering
perfectly. I'm not sure why I didn't go home. However, I think
that I should have felt guilty if I go home, because I knew that
I was already OK.
From the next day, my father took the trains with me even
though he had to put back- his leaving time in the morning. I
became anemic a couple days later, but being with It is often
said that 'in Tokyo, people are cold and human relations are very
weak. I don't know if it is true or not because I have lived in
Tokyo since I was four years old, and so do all my relatives.
Never having experienced any human relations besides in Tokyo, I
can't compare people to those who live out of Tokyo. The
relations which I have touched in Tokyo were, moreover, really
good. We used to live in a condominium holding only eleven
families, so that each became close immediately, and we are still
keeping those good relations, even though most residents moved
out and live apart from us now. I've never felt people are
so-called cold in Tokyo so far. As a proverb says, "There is no
rule without exceptions;" however, there is a big exception that
I may say represents the coldness of Tokyo.
I began to go to cram school, which is called "juku" in
Japanese, from the age of ten to study for the entrance
examinations of the private schools. A girl whom I went to the
school with was one of my friends since the elementary named
Shikoku-a. We went to the calm school by train, taking more than
thirty minutes, because there wasn't any suitable juku near our
houses. The trains where always crowded. Adults surrounded us:
our faces sometimes pressed by their backs. For me, they were
just like a wall. Out spaces were dark and small, and we even had
to turn our heads up to breathe among the wall. It was hard for
us, two little girls, to ride on such trains.
On a Sunday, Shikka and I got on an express train from
Shinjuku station, where it took about ten minutes to the next
station, on the way to home. While we were talking, she suddenly
became silent, then bent backward. It was just like watching a
scene in slow motion. I held her body right away, but she
gradually fell down and sat on the floor. I couldn't understand
what happened to her, nor did I know what to do: I sat being at a
loss beside her. Many passengers were around, but none except a
thin old lady tried to help us. Some were just looking, and
others turned away as if they didn't see anything. The lady and I
held her and tried to make Shikka stand up only to fall. We where
not strong enough to do that. The train was approaching the next
station and should have reached it in a few minutes, but I felt
it was endless. What I could do was only to hold an arm of the
sitting girl. The train finally reached the station. Having
recovered her consciousness, she couldn't have steady steps yet.
We grasped her arms one by one, then got off the train and walked
toward a bench. The lady had to take the train on which we were,
so that I thanked her, keeping my lonely feeling. Then she left
us.
After that, I called my mother and told about what happened.
She told me to take her to the station staffs room and to let her
rest for a while, and she also said that either she or Shikka's
mother would come and pick us up. I did as my mother said. We
were led to the room in which there was a bed and some chairs and
left Shikka alone. Shikka was sitting on the bed and I was on the
chair. We were waiting for one of our mother to come for thirty
minutes. We didn't speak each other among that at all.
Shikka's mother finally came and took us home. When she
arrived, I was greatly relived. Then I noticed that she looked a
little different from usual. That was because she didn't need
make up at all. I was really surprised, for she was famous for
making up beautifully at anytime. However, she never seemed to
mind how she looked. I soon realized that she had rushed there
even without her usual makeup for her daughter; I thought she was
much more beautiful this way
My father wasn't panicked. My father told me to squat down,
and I got my consciousness after a while.
After that, I sometimes become anemic on the crowded train in
the morning, even now. Having learned what to do for recovering
from anemia, I'm not embarrassed any more. Whenever I become so,
I squat down immediately. I felt a little ashamed at first, but
I've already become accustomed to becoming and getting over
anemic. People are surprised at my sudden action and move
backward, but never help me, which made me sad first. However,
I've also become accustomed to people's reaction and stopped
expecting any favors.
Even through these experiences, I can't say exactly whether
people in Tokyo are really cold or not. However, I can say that
they are not kind at least. If they are, they must say some
helpful words on seeing me sitting on the floor, but they rarely
talk to me. It must sound strange, but I can understand their
feeling. If I had never experienced being anemic, I think that I
would act as they do. This is because we don't want to be
involved with anything troublesome, much less in the busy
morning. To hurry to the schools or offices is more important
than to care about others. To tell the truth we are not
interested in others. I think that the busy daily lives make us
forget to be gentle. Thinking of that, those who live or lived
out of Tokyo may feel people in Tokyo are cold, and we, the
inhabitants of Tokyo, can't argue against that. That is what is
called the coldness of Tokyo.
I also came to know another emotion through these. Lack of
tenderness in the hearts of the passengers made me notice about
it. This is not anything about Tokyo, but something that exists
all over the world. Shikka's mother rushed to her child without
any makeup; my mother let me to be absent from the cram school,
which she seldom did; my father took the trains with me, even
though he had to change his departure time. From where did these
actions occur? I think they came from the love toward children. I
had heard about the love of parents before, but never saw it so
clearly. So, these were my first experiences to see that with my
own eyes. Whenever my heart was frozen, the love of parents
melted and wanted it. It wasn't always visible, but never
disappeared.
Whenever I become anemic, I can confirm people's coldness.
What is more, however, I can't help remembering these two
experiences and feeling the love of parents.
by Isa Katayanagi
