Is Japan a hard ground?

In the land where many call a hard ground, I find my heart softened.

Compassion has always been more trying for me. When I feel like I have seen enough ugliness in the world, I can sometimes become apathetic towards the brokenness that is around me.

But here in this land, I hear a cry. It’s easily missed. Easily overpowered by all the chatters in the streets, all the music from the bars and pachinkos, all the polite greetings from the shops and restaurants, all the bells from the shrinks, all the noise from the traffic lights, the cars, the bikes, the trains.

But it’s there. Just like an old man who hides himself under a plastic sheet at the park. Just like an old woman who comes out every night to sleep along the shopping streets after the shops are closed, and efficiently goes back into hiding once the tourists are back.

When I slow down, when I filter out all the hustle and bustle, I hear it. It’s a cry for hope. A cry for love. A cry that is ironically afraid to be heard.

When I slow down, when I filter out all the hustle and bustle, I see it. The colours in the sky. The bright leaves on the trees. The reflection from the waters. The light from the rising sun.

It almost feels like God’s way of saying, “I’m here. I have always been here.

“Show them that I am here. And bring them into the light.”