As I gingerly trek to class along the ice-coated sidewalks on Grounds, I find it hard to fathom that a mere month ago, I was in Japan, enjoying the endearing company of my grandparents.
Living in America, a whopping 7,000 miles away, I only get to return to my second home once every couple of years. And aside from the occasional phone call, I seldom interact with any extended family. But this past winter, I flew to Japan all on my own and basked in an entire month of family gatherings, home-cooked comfort foods and walks in the park with my grandmother.
But unlike my past trips to Japan, where I felt unabashed joy, this trip was marked by a stinging guilt that I had dismissed the fleeting nature of time.
My parents had long wanted me to return to Japan as my grandparents grew older, emphasizing the importance of spending more time with them. But these conversations often happened in passing, and I never took the time to consider what they really meant.
However, when I arrived in Japan in December, I was quickly made aware that my grandparents were getting older — and so was I. Unlike trips past, it was no longer a simple task for my grandparents to walk to the grocery store, much less to travel across the expanse of the city of Saitama. And I was far from the young child who could barely reach the light switch and needed a chaperone to walk to the train station. Instead, I found that it was now my turn to carry the bags of produce, walk slower and ensure that everyone was accounted for.
As I assumed these more mature responsibilities, I recalled the trips I took to Japan as a teenager, when I naively chose to spend that sacred visiting time away from my family. At every opportunity, I’d go out to explore the city with friends, rather than moving through humdrum days with my grandparents at home, doing chores and sitting in their company.
However, during this most recent trip, my mindset changed. With a newfound adult perspective, I realized the beauty of the mundane moments with my grandparents. I sat in the living room, rather than retreating to my bedroom as I normally would, to listen to my grandmother play Chopin on the piano. I got up early in the morning to catch my grandfather before he cycled to work, and I accompanied my grandmother on her daily walks around the neighborhood.
It was during these moments that I longed to turn back the clock. I wished I could go back and tell my younger self to appreciate the few times over the course of my childhood that I’d be in the company of my grandparents. Though I knew I couldn’t go back, I vowed to make up for the lost time. During this visit, I wouldn’t take their presence for granted.
Instead of sighing at the thought of running errands, I eagerly tied my shoes for the walk to the store with my grandparents. As we flipped through old photo albums, I’d tell myself, “Use all of your senses to remember this feeling — this warmth, this nostalgia.” I listened intently, no longer allowing her words to go in one ear and out the other, as my grandmother recounted stories of her spontaneous trips to Europe. And to capture every little detail of their love, I dutifully photographed each breakfast, lunch and dinner that was laid out in front of me.
In these little moments, I urged time to stop. I wanted our time together to linger endlessly, not to come to an end, only to fade into a distant memory. Although it was sad to realize that my time with my grandparents on this trip was slipping away, there was a silver lining — for once, I was able to truly, purposefully savor the time I spent with them in Japan.
Now that I’m back at school, I have made it my mission to take note of the sneaky passage of time. I want to be able to look back at my past, as my grandparents do, with gratification, not regret. And I want to enjoy the moments in front of me with the same intentionality that I did while I was visiting them.
Throughout the rest of my time in college, I aspire to better appreciate where I am and who I’m with. It can be easy as a student — a young adult with endless to-dos and decades of future potential — to urge time to pass by more quickly. And it’s all too easy to allow each stressful day to forgetfully fly away. But college is a precious time. We’ll likely never have this day-to-day freedom, nor this intimacy with friends, ever again.
With this newfound perspective, I’ll look forward to my trips to the grocery store, and I’ll delight in my time spent lounging at home with my roommates — as mundane as these activities may seem. While the next month, semester and entire year will pass by faster than I can imagine, I vow not to let my time, especially with my loved ones, pass me by.
As I enter this new year with renewed clarity about what — and who — is important in this life, I resolve to cherish little moments. I have my grandparents to thank for that.
Mai Hukuoka is a Life Columnist for The Cavalier Daily. She can be reached at life@cavalierdaily.com.
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