matpi's writing!

Intro;   Here's another highlight from my study abroad where we were tasked with writing a short scene inspired by a photo we took in Kamakura. I thought this hydrangea bush was cool so here's what I wrote about it!

2106 Elizabeth Rd.

The bamboo fence would always get overgrown with hydrangeas in the summer. Among the vast swath of uniform houses with short-cut lawns, the blossoming flower garden always stuck out. The neighborhood was almost a perfect image of an upper-middle class North American suburb, apart from the house that at times began to look like a rainforest.

It was hard to see the number on the house, especially when the hydrangeas were in bloom, but everyone knew where 2106 Elizabeth Road was. Fireflies would frequent the garden, which had a pond that would fill up on rainy days. The nearby houses would often look outside their windows on summer nights, just before the streetlights would bathe the street in a sterile orange glow, entranced by the dancing lights standing out against the vivid green backdrop, illuminated only by the glimmer of the bioluminescent insects and the purple sunset.

The sunset now remained the only other distinguishing feature of the neighborhood, with the Elizabeth Road providing the best view with the wider than normal street. It was as if watercolor paints had been created specifically to capture these sunsets. Partly cloudy evenings were especially spectacular, with the blue to orange to purple gradient shimmering in various patterns across the heavens. An especially rainy June this year, however, meant that gray clouds often dominated the skyscape, obscuring the vibrant colors that would normally liven up the beige garage doors that lined the streets of the suburb.

The heavy rains also contributed to the especially colorful display of hydrangeas in the front yard of 2106 Elizabeth Road, almost as if making up for the lack of color supplied by the sky. Heavy rains also brought with them stronger winds, sometimes scattering petals across the neighboring lawns. It seemed that the homeowners didn’t mind it too much though. The petals would soon decompose and be reclaimed by the earth.

The rains came and went, and with it the rest of summer, and eventually the fall and winter as well. It wasn’t until late April of next year when the homeowners of Elizabeth Road noticed something a little out of the ordinary on their perfectly mowed lawns. The wind had scattered more than just the petals, and by early May, nearly every lawn on the street had a small blossom, a brilliant purple flower, the same color as the sunset sky.

Intro:   Recently, I went to Japan to study abroad, and part of it was learning how to write stories. One of the weekends I had free, so I took a trip down to Numazu, which inspired this short piece.

The Sound of the Sea

“I want to hear the sound of the sea.”

That’s typically what I’m looking for everytime I visit the beach, and my trek to Mito Beach was no different. The sound of the waves is very calming, and it reconnects me back to the natural world. I believe that’s also the case for most. YouTube is filled with 8-hour long videos of crashing waves to help people fall asleep, after all. But the sea spans far deeper than the crashing waves on the shore.

Beaches are noisy. Yes, I am including the swarms of swimmers and other social beach goers, but the waves themselves are also quite noisy. The sea is a living symphony, and my visit to the Numazu Deep Sea Aquarium the previous day showed me the sheer number of musicians in this orchestra, so many of whom lie beneath the melody on the surface. With most beaches, however, it is common for the waves to play far too loud for listeners on the surface, obscuring the complexity of the music within.

Mito Beach is situated on the Suruga Bay in the small town of Uchiuramito. The waves here are calm, sounding no louder than a splash, almost silent compared to the colossal crash of the Pacific Ocean beaches of southern California. Speaking of silence, that was one of the many charms of Uchiuramito. It’s a very quiet town. Time seemed to stand still as I looked past the shoreline. I began to listen to the sea.

At first it was just the splash of the waves, but the lack of other noise let the gentleness ring clear as the sky that morning. Usually, a quiet environment pushes my brain to fill the space with its own noise, but it wasn’t the case here. I was able to hear and appreciate the silence of the world around me, and I focused my ear into the water, searching for the symphony underwater.

And I heard it then. A faint, distant piano melody. It was starkly different to someone playing a piano in their house from a distance away. The timbre was imbued with the spirit of the water. Tuning in further I began to hear the rest of the symphony. Violins, cellos, trumpets, horns tubas, clarinets, flutes, oboes. I wanted to hear more. It was as if I was being pulled into the sea, and I almost dove in to hear their sounds more clearly. But I heard it. The sea was singing to me. I kept listening to hear as many of their songs as possible. An unseen horizon, blossoming dreams, and miracles that can only be performed through the power of music and love. They sang about many such topics with beautiful melodies that enveloped your mind and lush harmonies that embraced your soul.

The sounds of Mito Beach still echo in my head to this moment, reminding me of my connection to the sea from that day: “Let our feelings join as one!”