Hiro Daisuke

How draining it is to have to deal with homework right after school? Is the time you rob us of during the day not enough? Besides, some of us aren’t fortunate enough to have personal chauffeurs to drive us home. Takayama doesn't get any more unique, the more I go by here; even taking different paths, I'm getting tired of seeing the same trees, leaves and river, let alone the same faces. Despite any path I take, I can't escape the river. Passing by the stone hedges engaged by the cement, the words "Otaru Canal" on the gold-platted plaque solidify my mind. I'm not sure whether it's the plaque, or the uprooted grass that makes me cross the road to get past, that makes me drop my shoulders, but nostalgia does feel comforting. 'Aaaah,' stretching my arms behind my head, the thought of all the things I have to do is already making me tired. By the time I get home, I'll be too tired to do any homework. Stroking my chin in deep contemplation, I think I'll take a nap, or maybe a snack and catch up with the latest Star Wars film; Westerners are calling it the greatest film ever, after all. I do wish I could've shown it to Emilia earlier; granted, Miss Fujiwara probably would've given us a scolding for using the website for movies rather than coursework; at heart, she isn't as strict as the other teachers, so I'm sure we could've watched at least the first few minutes. Adjusting my gaze from the cloud-bitten skyline, I found my eyes fixated on the aging oak trees amidst my approach. It's not as though they're new here; I pass by them every day but I never looked too much into it. Passing by them, I saw them for what they were to me, but not for what they are. How many people has this tree seen? How many tragedies did it survive? How lonely has this immovable symbol of time been? I feel the world we live in is full of this. What a lonely world to live in. 'Hiro! Fancy seeing you here,' Miya's soft yet powerful tone could be recognised from anywhere, 'Hey, Aunt Miya. You know this is the only way home,' I said tilting my head to the side. Laughing, she gestured at the cart of vegetables in her hand, 'take some,' she insisted. Throwing my hand, I smiled and politely rejected. 'I'll be back later. Save some for me, okay?' 'Of course, you know I will,' she said, as if I had offended her. Takayama isn't special by any regard. It isn't that big, nor does it have many shops, the sweets here aren't that good and everybody lives a pretty normal life. Most would conclude it as just another little town; but, that's why I like it. There's less noise here, it's easy to have a favourite shop, I like the sweets and the people here are really nice. It's a little town, but it's my little town, and it has a special place in my heart. One more turn left by the bushes through Shirakuma village and I should be at the home stretch. It is a long adventure, but it gives me a lot of time to think and sort things out. If I have a lot on my mind, a walk to school and back is enough to clear the air most of the time. 'Good evening, Hiro!' 'Uncle Iko! How's business?' 'Consistent as always, haha.' I've always seen Iko out here working every time I walk to school and back. I really do wish he would take it easy sometimes; as strong as he is, he's still human. It amazes me how he can have such a work ethic even at this age; some people really just are special. Passing by the bushes, I feel like I'm in entering a new dimension every time. The tangled vines attached to the even older oak trees that may soon begin showing their age never ceases to amaze me, yet they're used for their shade by the selfishness of the daylily amongst them. Rainfall is vital for the survival of plant life. Regardless of their nature, all plants have a keen search for water. Oak trees grow old but hardly move. Their lack of desire to displace their surroundings, despite unfavourable conditions is admirable, but foolish; what sense does it make to accept your fate? And how do you know your fate extends to the knowledge you’ve inherited? There’s no shame in running. Running is an Olympic sport after all. It’s the peak of human capabilities. You’re told to run when faced with an altercation. So why do we frown upon people who run from their problems?

'I'm home!' I announced, peaking my head between the pine-shedding door and the cold brick wall. It's a little quieter than usual. Dropping my bags by the door, my shoulders draped as I exhaled for the whole house to know 'they may aswell make us fill our bags with rocks so we could learn about the cavemen.' Heading to my room, I noticed my window completely open. 'Must've been mom,' I shrugged. Leaning over the open view, I reached for the handle of the window, careful not to kill any of the bystanding cherry blossoms; Manu would kill me if I killed even a single leaf. I'm barely on my last stand since the ball accidentally knocked out his sunflowers. Falling into my bed, I groaned waving my arms comfortably; why'd she have to give us so much homework this early into the year? Smiling, I recalled something from yesterday's class: 'A little compassion please Mrs. Fujiwara, having so much homework to do rather than studying would make the entrance exams much more difficult.' I like Akio quite a bit. Despite how obnoxious he can be, I find his comedic timing and lightened tone towards the class really special. There were times where he'd make such funny jokes and get the class bursting into laughter; it made me want to say a funny joke, but everytime I'd consider it, my heart would start beating faster, and my words would feel heavier. I envy Akio for his bravery. 'How bold of you to assume I'd believe you would study when given a break, Akio.' Despite my envy of Akio, Professor did absolutely fry him with that one. Finding myself smiling to myself, I realised how awkward that was; besides, I doubt anybody thinks of me like I do hours, and sometimes days, after something happens. All this thinking calls for a study break. 'Mom, I'm heading out to get the groceries in the village,' I yelled, pulling on the wooden door.

Lets see, how much do I have on me? One, two, three hundred yen; I guess its only me and mom eating. The village is a little busier than usual. Bustling and chatter conquered the small village as I looked to go to Uncle Iko's corner shop. Hey Unc, do you have any more onions in the back? 'All out I'm afraid, kiddo,' Iko replied with a frown. I think Miya might still be selling some down the hill. Trying to keep my pace, I felt my knees buckle each time I'd over step the trip down. 'Hey Aunt Miya, are you still selling vegetables?' 'You're just in time, I was about to put them away,' she said matter-of-factly. I handed her the list and I gave her the three hundred yen; she handed me 100 yen in return, saying 'I'll give you a special deal since your mother and I are family.' I was about to walk away when I heard my name called: 'Hey Hiro,' Miya's voice called; she began forming her words when it seemed she had bit her tongue, 'what's with the special occasion?' she asked. 'I'm graduating this year, so I wanted to celebrate by cooking dinner for Mom and I,' I said, gazing at the bag of vegetables Aunt Miya had handed me. Miya's eyes closed as the corner ofher lip dropped. She turned back to her stand and told me to enjoy the dinner and sent me wishes of success in my upcoming entrance exams.

Climbing the steep elevation, my knees thought about giving up a couple of times. Gosh, I'm too young to be having back pains at this age. I expected the uphill journey to be difficult, but that ended up being an understatement. I stopped half way to take a break and regain my breath when, in the corner of my eye, I noticed a small vendor; this conveniently placed seller surely wasn't looking to take advantage of people's unathletic abilities, I thought sarcastically. I have some change left over, so I may aswell get a drink. The shop was different from any other I have been to before; for starters, there was an actual building as opposed to the typical carts outside; there were glass panes which highlighted the shops most valuable possessions for sale complimented with the cool air of an indoor cooling system. This was atypical to the rural surroundings I had grown accustomed to, so I had to check it out. I greeted the shop owner as I looked for the nearest juice bottlearound for some juice. I'm not much of an orange juice guy, so I opted for the best of the two. 50 yen, I thought. I could buy two, but I think it would be better to save in case of anything, not that saving 50 yen would be enough to leave in a will. ‘That's all, sir.' As I paid for the drink, something caught the corner of my eye. It was an ancient-styled mosaic candle holder. ‘How much for the candle holder?’ I asked. '75 yen,' the seller's eyes widened. 'Your taste is well above your age,' the seller continued. 'The candle would certainly suit a fine refined gentlemen like yourself.' I appreciate the compliments, but it's not for me. 'Oh? For your wife? I suppose younger marriages are common in certain parts of the world, but I've never seem them in Takayama.' ‘It's for my mother,’ I replied, glaring at the seller.

'You must let the vegetables boil and absorb the heat, before putting the rice in the pot. That way the rice is able to absorb all the flavours and work in harmony, giving you that strong flavour with a hint of softness in the back of your mouth. Like you're eating a cloud of meatballs.' I remember my mother teaching me how to cook this special meal. She'd only cook it on special occassions; the last time being when I entered middle school. Every time I eat it, it tastes like home; not just any home, but a happy home. I had to plead for her to tell me her recipe; she kept proclaiming that it was a family tradition passed down to each girl of the house, however my mother had no daughters; so I knew that she wouldn't mind bending the rules a little. Let the rice absorb the flavours and top it with the chopped onions and steamed chicken thigh. Gently placing the paper cups on our wood-legged table, I made sure not to spill the food; every last bit of flavour had to make it to our mouths, and I really wanted Mom to rate it. After placing the utensils and hearing the tinfoil under our plates calm it's voice, I filled our cups with water I collected on the way up, before calling for Mom.

The basement was a little cold at times. The walls had a granite grey to them with their surfaces being a refigerator compared to the ice rink of a snowy winter on Mount Fuji. During the Winter, it would be difficult to stay down here for long without succumbing to a runny nose and shivering paws. 'Aunt Miya told me to say hi to you for her,' I began, facing Mom. 'She was about to close up shop for the day, so I had to substitute for the parsley. I turned facing the candle holder, 'she wanted me to give you this.' She regrets not seeing you more often, and she hopes that you'll forgive her with this. I stirred the food on my plate, filling my spoon and then sprinkling it down like a waterfall, the chopped onions submerged by the overflow. 'Mom, I'm a little nervous for the entrance exams in May. I know you tell me all the time that as long as I give it my all it doesn't matter the outcome, but the outcome does matter. If I don't do well enough, surely you can't look at me in my eyes the same way you always do.' Moving my eyes from my food to Mom, my eyes met hers; she was smiling. Amidst her smile though, not a word was shared. Every time I needed comforting, like when I cried on my first day of middle school, or when I couldn't get my head around my homework, or even when she would scold me for skipping school, that smile would tell a story where words couldn't replace. But I'm older now; I can see past that smile. The smile that tried to disguise a pair of sad, hazel eyes. I know she tried to comfort me with her calm gesture, but, deep down, I knew she was falling; so helplessly free-falling into the void, while her eyes wept for help. I shook my head, coming back to where I was. My soup's gone cold and I seem to have spilled some on the tinfoil. My eyes glanced from my plate to her plate. I tried to open my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. 'Mom, your food's getting cold.'