Kumamoto Sakura

When I was a year-and a half, I was adopted from Japan and I grew up in Hawaii as an only child.

In Spring 2008, I went to Kumamoto, Japan to meet my birth mother, Mitsuko for the first time. I was 39 at the time, and had never seen her before, not even a photo of her in all those years.

Mitsuko and I connected through my mother’s cousin in Kumamoto, who always had Mitsuko’s contact information, in case I needed to contact her--or rather, when my parents felt that it was time for me to meet the woman who gave birth to me and gave me up for adoption so that I could have a better life.

She and I talked on the phone and wrote to each other a few times before I arranged the trip. It was challenging, since I barely spoke Japanese, and she spoke no English at all.

Mitsuko was a young, single, and uneducated mother, who tried to support me, but she struggled and eventually found that she could not afford to raise me alone. She felt like she had no choice but to give me up for adoption, because of the financial hardships, and because the Japanese culture also frowned upon unmarried mothers, especially during the late 60s.

Some years later, Mitsuko got married and had two children after me, a boy and a girl. So not only was I meeting my birth mother for the first time, I was also meeting my half-brother and half-sister and nieces as well.

Mitsuko said that she told her family about me, and that they were okay with meeting me and having me stay over, if I wanted to.

I was very excited, but also very nervous to meet her and my siblings. When I got to the hotel, I was so exhausted and jet-lagged from the flight, that I immediately wanted to just sleep.

After showering and getting into my pajamas, I called Mitsuko to let her know that I was at my hotel and then we planned to meet up the following day, since I flew in on Easter Sunday and I needed the rest to prepare myself for my big life event.

We hung up and I plopped myself onto the bed and passed out. I was asleep only for a few hours, when the doorbell to my room was ringing non-stop. I tried to ignore it, but the person outside kept on ringing. I woke up and was a bit groggy, thinking that it was the maid coming by to service the room. I was soo tired, so I was also a little grouchy and started bitching silently under my breath, as to why the maid couldn’t come back later, etc.

Japanese hotel rooms are pretty cool. My hotel room had a peephole on the door, like an apartment, so I peered through it. And standing there, pacing back and forth in front of the door was Mitsuko!

“Oh shit!” I said to myself.

Now I felt really bad for bitching about the doorbell ringing and me thinking that it was a persistent maid who wanted to clean my room!

I couldn’t believe she was actually standing out there.

I envisioned my first meeting with her where I could take my time picking out my perfect outfit, having my makeup and hair done up nicely, and sitting down to have a lovely lunch with her while we caught up on the last 39 years.

Instead, I was in my pajamas, my teeth unbrushed, my hair wanked out, and my hotel room in somewhat of a mess. To think that I was about to meet the woman who gave birth to me and had to painfully give me up for adoption, but I looked like I just woke up, because I did just wake up--I was so embarrassed!

I really had to use the bathroom, too, but she kept ringing the doorbell, and I didn’t want to leave her out in the hallway any longer, so I reluctantly opened the door, looking disheveled as ever, and gave her a great big smile and hugged her.

Being very traditionally Japanese, Mitsuko didn’t hug me back, she just stood there and smiled and said in Japanese, “Sorry, I just couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see you.”

I smiled and using my best Japanese replied, “That’s okay. I couldn’t wait either.”

We both laughed out loud and we eerily sounded the same. In fact, as I spent time with Mitsuko during that trip, I found that we had A LOT in common.

We both talked in the same fast way, we both didn’t wear a watch, we both liked to write and jot things down in a notebook, we both loved playing the piano, and we both loved the music of The Carpenters, to name a few.

I had such a wonderful time with Mitsuko and her family. We enjoyed ourselves, mostly eating the best umami-laden food and laughing at each other trying to communicate with our hand signals, charades, and Japanese-English dictionary references.

By the end of the trip, I was pretty fluent and very proud of myself. I took Japanese classes in grade school, high school, and college, but never got into conversational Japanese, so the practice of speaking the language was always difficult for me.

This photo was taken when I went sightseeing in and around Kumamoto. I got to snap tons of beautiful scenic photos, but this one stood out to me the most, since the cherry blossoms (sakura) were in bloom at the time and not only are sakura breathtaking to look at, but they also represent rebirth, which I thought was significant to me and my situation.

I call this photo, Kumamoto Sakura.

I haven’t been back to Japan since that time, but I still keep in touch with Mitsuko to this day, in hopes of visiting when traveling overseas is safe once again. Until then, I have my awesome memories, cutesy souvenirs, and an abundance of sakura photos to remind me of the beauty and splendor of Japan, and specifically, the beauty and splendor of my birth mother, Mitsuko.