Walking Home with Yoyu

I was on my way home after spending the day at the hospital with Akira following his surgery. I had planned carefully for the long hours there, but I hadn’t thought all the way through to how I would make it home.

Excerpt from Finding Yoyu

I stayed until after visiting hours were over before finally heading home. By that time, I had no yoyu. I was exhausted. I was so depleted that I barely remember walking from the hospital to the station or getting on the train. However, I vividly remember the fifteen-minute walk home from the station.

I don’t remember why I chose to walk instead of taking a taxi. Maybe habit. Or maybe I knew I couldn’t face the taxi driver and give him directions without crying. I was so exhausted that even putting one foot in front of the other was an effort.

I stood in front of the station and willed myself to keep going. My brain was foggy, and I fought back tears. I was shaking from exhaustion, and all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball on the sidewalk and cry. Then, like a B-grade movie, it started raining.

Although I was utterly exhausted, a small part of me was fascinated. So this is what it felt like. I’d heard people talk about exhaustion. I’d seen people act it out in movies. I always thought it was overdramatized. Now I knew it wasn’t.

For a second, I thought about going back to the taxis. I could see them, but the effort was too great. How was I ever going to make it home?

I thought about crumpling down to the ground. It would feel so good. But people were streaming by me on either side, going to and from the station, and the police box was nearby. If I crumpled down right there, an officer would probably ask questions, and I’d have to explain, which would take more energy. So instead, I took another step forward.

Then I saw a tree on my right, standing tall and mostly ignored amid all the busy people, cars, buses, and neon lights.

“Chotto chodai,” I silently begged. “Please share a little with me.”

I’d been navigating the hospital scene all day in Japanese, so naturally, the Japanese came out first. No matter. The tree would know what I needed whether I spoke Japanese or English. I couldn’t think of what to say in English anyway.

Chotto chodai. Please share a little. Please spare a little for me. Not a lot. Not everything. Just a little, please.

I couldn’t feel anything yet, but I looked ahead to the next bit of green I could find. There was a pot of flowers in front of a shop. Chotto chodai. I asked the flowers to share a little energy with me.

I saw another tree. Chotto chodai. Spare a little, please.

I saw a dandelion growing in a crack in the cement between two buildings. Chotto chodai. Share a little, please.

I kept walking. I saw some moss on the curb. Chotto chodai. Spare a little, please.

The tears streamed down my face. I hoped no one was looking at me. I didn’t have the energy to explain why I was crying.

I saw another tree. Chotto chodai. Share a little, please.

I reached the next intersection and saw a young, thin tree, itself probably struggling to survive alongside the busy street. Chotto chodai. Spare a little, please.

I walked with one tree, one bush, one weed in front of the other until I reached home. I made it thanks to those bits of nature along the way. I entered my home with more energy and peace than when I’d left the hospital.

—from Finding Yoyu

If you’re new here and wondering what yoyu means, you can read a simple explanation here.