Alone Again, with Only a Feather to Call My Own
The first card she drew was the Chariot.
{"The Chariot is a good card for you, Tsu-kun. It fits you perfectly. You see, the Chariot represents the strength that only a mind in full control can have. Jealousy, anger, shame - these things are not enough to cloud the mind; your mind. Tsu-kun, you are very, very strong. Even disgrace and pride means nothing to you.}
Fragment One: Confession
My name is Tsuyosa Kanazaki. I think if you want the whole full of it, I'm sure you want to know about my parents, and my sister, and all that - like where I'm from, and what I've been doing until this very moment. But none of that really matters right now, because there's only one thing I want to talk about.
I'm Japanese, if you can't surmise from my name. I've never been outside of Japan, except for a summer trip to England. And how different the people were there! They carried themselves in a different air, and even smiled in a different way. I felt, as I walked down the streets of London, as if maybe Japan and her culture was the cause of the story I have to tell.
Yes, I have a story to tell, that Dad called shameful, not even worthy enough to utter to the insects that flew unwanted into our house. It's been biting at my tongue, like a sweet secret I can't tell, but I have to. The buzzing in my ears and the tiny nagging sting on my tongue has amplified during the past months, an amplification that tore at my heart and become the sole reason of my late sleepless nights.
I have to carry my head with pride, like Dad told me every day at the dinner table that now seems so empty and alone. Mom's eyes are watery, as if her very soul was longing for something she could not find. She never cried, no never, because there should be no tears over someone who brought so much disgrace to my family.
But if you have to know, you should know right now. See how I say this, with voice loud and eyes open. No longer shall I whisper her name, or stare at the floor. In my heart, she is still my sister, and an unchanging memory in my mind.
My sister's name is Hitomi Kanazaki.
On the first day of her nineteenth birthday, Hitomi gave me a reading, drawing seven tarot cards from her deck, and forming them into a half circle before me. Her room was lit only with the lamp Oba-chan gave her, all silver and old, and her eyes flashed with warmth - Hitomi's I mean. She told me that she stopped fortune reading, however, today was a special day.
Her voice was strong, never wavering, nor changing in tone or volume. My sister had such a gentle voice. I could listen to it for hours, and when I was younger, I did, every night when she came to tell me bedtime stories.
The next day, Hitomi cut her long, waist length hair, that took her three years to grow. I saw her wearing her old highschool uniform. She was still able to fit it because she hasn't grow one bit since the last day she wore it to school. She laughed away my and Dad's curious looks and kissed Mom lightly on her head. And then, with a wave, Hitomi walked out the door.
I didn't know it then, when I was struggling to complete a history test in school, that Hitomi calmly took the bullet train to our house in Tokyo and sat for hours by the tree that shadowed her old room. And I didn't know that when I walked home that same day, complaining to Keidan and Sie about Sagaski-san's unfair test, that Hitomi wept quiet tears and withdrew from her bag, the obi of Oba-chan's most beautiful kimono.
Hitomi's body was found five hours later.
My sister committed suicide.
You see, it's easy to say that, soft and simple, like for all the world, it was all her fault, not my own. But the truth is, we all led her to her death. Because we didn't know what she needed, or what could save her. Dad used to tell us that nobody is truly strong unless they have something to believe in. But sometimes, I'm not sure if my sister had anything at all.
That's why she was so weak.
This was three years ago. Hitomi would have been 21, and a graduate of Nagasaki University had she lived. She would have been there when Yukari announced her marriage to Amano-sempai had she lived. Hitomi would have made the men blush and women cluck in approving gestures when she came out, dressed in kimono and obi for Yukari's wedding if she had live. If only she lived.
Mom and Dad never speak of her name. They do not place food on Hitomi's grave. The house is so quiet. The students in my class, some whose brothers and sisters have actually been Hitomi's friends in high school, smile at me, with eyes filled with sympathy and compassion. All of Oba-chan's friends pat Mom's hands and mutter like a song, "Oh, how you must be grieving. No parent should bury their child". And Dad drinks away his sorrow.
That's why I can't call her by her first name, or mention her in front of Dad or Mom. I don't want to cause any more sadness, or any pain. Not right now, never now. Her shadow haunts us, but somehow, I still cry at night, alone, thinking about her. This pain may never go away.
There was nothing we could do for her. Nothing at all.
Yet, until that very last day, I believed I could.
Even after all this, I still love Hitomi.
I guess that's why her story needs to be told. What I didn't know, but what I know now, is that within this story of a king and a faraway land, shadowed by the flying dragons and dancing with the regret of one gentle heart, lies the story of me.
Everyone called her weak. I find her strong, stronger then anyone I know. Even after all this, I still love Hitomi.
Author's Notes - Oba-chan is how Hitomi addressed her Grandma in the TV series.
The first card she drew was the Chariot.
{"The Chariot is a good card for you, Tsu-kun. It fits you perfectly. You see, the Chariot represents the strength that only a mind in full control can have. Jealousy, anger, shame - these things are not enough to cloud the mind; your mind. Tsu-kun, you are very, very strong. Even disgrace and pride means nothing to you.}
Fragment One: Confession
My name is Tsuyosa Kanazaki. I think if you want the whole full of it, I'm sure you want to know about my parents, and my sister, and all that - like where I'm from, and what I've been doing until this very moment. But none of that really matters right now, because there's only one thing I want to talk about.
I'm Japanese, if you can't surmise from my name. I've never been outside of Japan, except for a summer trip to England. And how different the people were there! They carried themselves in a different air, and even smiled in a different way. I felt, as I walked down the streets of London, as if maybe Japan and her culture was the cause of the story I have to tell.
Yes, I have a story to tell, that Dad called shameful, not even worthy enough to utter to the insects that flew unwanted into our house. It's been biting at my tongue, like a sweet secret I can't tell, but I have to. The buzzing in my ears and the tiny nagging sting on my tongue has amplified during the past months, an amplification that tore at my heart and become the sole reason of my late sleepless nights.
I have to carry my head with pride, like Dad told me every day at the dinner table that now seems so empty and alone. Mom's eyes are watery, as if her very soul was longing for something she could not find. She never cried, no never, because there should be no tears over someone who brought so much disgrace to my family.
But if you have to know, you should know right now. See how I say this, with voice loud and eyes open. No longer shall I whisper her name, or stare at the floor. In my heart, she is still my sister, and an unchanging memory in my mind.
My sister's name is Hitomi Kanazaki.
On the first day of her nineteenth birthday, Hitomi gave me a reading, drawing seven tarot cards from her deck, and forming them into a half circle before me. Her room was lit only with the lamp Oba-chan gave her, all silver and old, and her eyes flashed with warmth - Hitomi's I mean. She told me that she stopped fortune reading, however, today was a special day.
Her voice was strong, never wavering, nor changing in tone or volume. My sister had such a gentle voice. I could listen to it for hours, and when I was younger, I did, every night when she came to tell me bedtime stories.
The next day, Hitomi cut her long, waist length hair, that took her three years to grow. I saw her wearing her old highschool uniform. She was still able to fit it because she hasn't grow one bit since the last day she wore it to school. She laughed away my and Dad's curious looks and kissed Mom lightly on her head. And then, with a wave, Hitomi walked out the door.
I didn't know it then, when I was struggling to complete a history test in school, that Hitomi calmly took the bullet train to our house in Tokyo and sat for hours by the tree that shadowed her old room. And I didn't know that when I walked home that same day, complaining to Keidan and Sie about Sagaski-san's unfair test, that Hitomi wept quiet tears and withdrew from her bag, the obi of Oba-chan's most beautiful kimono.
Hitomi's body was found five hours later.
My sister committed suicide.
You see, it's easy to say that, soft and simple, like for all the world, it was all her fault, not my own. But the truth is, we all led her to her death. Because we didn't know what she needed, or what could save her. Dad used to tell us that nobody is truly strong unless they have something to believe in. But sometimes, I'm not sure if my sister had anything at all.
That's why she was so weak.
This was three years ago. Hitomi would have been 21, and a graduate of Nagasaki University had she lived. She would have been there when Yukari announced her marriage to Amano-sempai had she lived. Hitomi would have made the men blush and women cluck in approving gestures when she came out, dressed in kimono and obi for Yukari's wedding if she had live. If only she lived.
Mom and Dad never speak of her name. They do not place food on Hitomi's grave. The house is so quiet. The students in my class, some whose brothers and sisters have actually been Hitomi's friends in high school, smile at me, with eyes filled with sympathy and compassion. All of Oba-chan's friends pat Mom's hands and mutter like a song, "Oh, how you must be grieving. No parent should bury their child". And Dad drinks away his sorrow.
That's why I can't call her by her first name, or mention her in front of Dad or Mom. I don't want to cause any more sadness, or any pain. Not right now, never now. Her shadow haunts us, but somehow, I still cry at night, alone, thinking about her. This pain may never go away.
There was nothing we could do for her. Nothing at all.
Yet, until that very last day, I believed I could.
Even after all this, I still love Hitomi.
I guess that's why her story needs to be told. What I didn't know, but what I know now, is that within this story of a king and a faraway land, shadowed by the flying dragons and dancing with the regret of one gentle heart, lies the story of me.
Everyone called her weak. I find her strong, stronger then anyone I know. Even after all this, I still love Hitomi.
Author's Notes - Oba-chan is how Hitomi addressed her Grandma in the TV series.