AM20: The Japan Journals

Day 63

June 2nd

My week in the Chugoku region is about to close, but there's still one chapter left to visit. The gravity of today's activity is going to be the heaviest of any place that I've felt on this trip. Of course, I'm referring to the Hiroshima memorial. On August 6th, 1945, an Atomic Bomb was dropped on the city of Hiroshima, killing countless people. The magnitude of the blast was immense, as it forever altered the landscape of the city.

Much of the city was leveled, with few artifacts left standing. One notable exception is the Hiroshima Peace Memorial, also known as the "Genbaku Dome". From what I've researched, it's known to be the most notable standing structure left from the bombing. The hollow remains of the structure paint a grim picture of what nuclear war could facilitate. It's something that I've long wanted to see, but not for excitable reasons.

It looks like my hook-shaped route to Hiroshima will take about two and a half hours, arching me from the southwest coast to the southeastern bay city. My drive around the southern tip of the main island was dense like the air was gradually weighing me down. Imagining the totality of what happened at Hiroshima is hard to conceptualize, but harder to see.

I arrived in the city around lunchtime, however, I didn't stop for a quick meal. Rather, I decided to head right to the Peace Memorial. After a week of consistent processing, I finally make eye contact with the dingy, stable structure. It's one thing to know that this building withstood a nuclear attack, but to then find out that the building was near the epicenter of the drop is just mind-boggling. How could anything so close to such a destructive blast endure the impact?

While observing the dome, I was told by a fellow visitor that there are different walking paths around the city, many of which connect the historical sites. I eventually made my way along with one of those paths, but not before taking a stern glance at the Dome. Aside from gaining a new perspective on the atrocities of war, I wanted to admire this building's ability to withstand such force.

Is it in the architecture? Did the circular, dome-shaped apparatus serve as a prototype for future buildings in this area? Were the surrounding buildings able to absorb the brunt of the blast? Or, was this place just lucky and somehow evaded the brutality of the bomb? The answers were elusive, but I quickly discovered that the dome wasn't the only surviving structure.

Down the road were a handful of other structures that survived the destruction. One of which was a "rest house". This place used to be a shop, which was going about its daily routine when the bomb dropped. The building was destroyed, but the basement was left intact, serving as a hollow shell of what used to stand above it. The lot has since been renovated into a rest area and tourist information center, but much of the basement has been preserved to reflect the damage inflicted that day.

After signing up at the information center, I was able to step down into the hollow remains of the basement. The remnants of war were apparent, with bricks crumbling in front of my eyes. The blacked-out cellar paints a grim picture of whoever would have been in here during the attack. As terrifying as that image conjured, it would be the next stop on the walk that would have the most haunting visual.

Another building to survive the blast was a nearby elementary school. Partially evaporated in the blast, several classrooms (along with the basement) remained. I was told that this was a place of refuge after the bombing, as many kids came to this site and wrote messages to loved ones. Some of these letters were posted on the wall, which thankfully, someone had translated for me.

One after another, these letters all paint the same picture. In the rubble of the bombing, many kids were confused, wondering where their families were. Many of these letters were addressed to their loved ones, hoping that they'd respond with their whereabouts. Some letters detailed the atrocities that they witnessed, right after the bombing. The details were grim (to say the least) and enough that I don't want to repeat.

These children had to witness a horror that most movies couldn't evoke. Displaced, missing their loved ones, many of these kids had their entire lives be erased right in front of them. This, of anything I've seen today, has to be the most depressing. The layers of sorrow that are stacked upon the plight of these kids only amplify what this region went through. It provokes the question of "how far is too far?"

Were we justified in destroying this part of the country? The answer is simple, but the context blurs the morality of the situation. Make no mistake, the Empire of Japan was an aggressive, cold-hearted country hellbent on conquering lands far beyond their reaches. I mean, the idea of Kamikaze pilots alone shows the lengths they were willing to go to win.

The US military felt like it had no other choice but to take drastic measures. With that said, did the US HAVE to go the nuclear route to end the conflict, or was there another route to take? The answer is unclear, but it's a bold reminder of the lengths that humans have to go to win a war.

I spent the rest of my afternoon walking about the different trails, learning more about the city and its rebound from the devastation. A big reason why Hiroshima (and Nagasaki, the other city hit with an atomic bomb) were targeted by the US military was their strong military presence. Like many cities in Japan, Hiroshima is constructed along a bay, making it a convenient point for military operations.

Ironically, the two bombs dropped on Japan were called "Little Boy and Fat Man". The one dropped on Hiroshima (Little Boy), was the smaller and less powerful of the two. If what I saw today was the result of the lesser blast, then I don't want to go anywhere near the epicenter of the Fat Man.

Hiroshima feels like a city that's stuck to one event, but that's not what makes it unique. What makes it unique is how they chose to rebuild, post-war. Instead of toppling the remaining structures from the blast, they chose to preserve the horrors of that day. Despite everything that took place that day, they chose to cement the legacy of that event (so much so, that the Peace Memorial is a certified UNESCO World Heritage Site).

They want these remaining buildings to remind people of the atrocities that we can commit, as a society, and the cost that it can have on future generations. They embraced the struggle that their citizens had to go through, showing the world what can come out of a horrible tragedy. It leaves a somber, but reflective attitude on my aura.

I can't help but think about the countless kids that wrote those letters, hoping that one day, a loved one would return them. I wish I couldn't understand their pain, as the sudden loss of a loved one is a feeling that's all too familiar.

I wish I had used my writing abilities to verbalize the loss I went through. Being able to reciprocate the love that they gave me my entire life, in the form of one last letter, could have been a peaceful send-off that I desperately wanted. Losing a family member is never easy, especially when it happens spontaneously. I yearn for the opportunity to see them again, if only to create a single memory. I would treasure every second of their presence, knowing that it could reverberate in my consciousness for a lifetime.

Of course, you know who I'm referring to, so there's no need to elaborate. The sorrow that surrounds Hiroshima is palpable, but not carried in vain. Like so many before them, the city had to rebuild itself after being reduced to ashes. This city made the most of their strife, cultivating the place that we see today.

The moral lesson from this visit should not be to whimper and fall victim to the tragedy. Rather, it's an inspiration to anyone that feels downtrodden and out of luck. Far more people, past and present, have had it worse than you. Don't let the moment bring you down for life. Instead, use days like this to live your life to a higher level. Not just for you, but for the people that couldn't.

And on that note, my week in Chugoku has come to a close. A week of angst and suspense built up to its climax this afternoon, only to have a release of somber emotions. Life's too short to live in fear, or waiting in anticipation for something else. You have to be aggressive with your decisions and let your intuition guide your way through.

I'm ready for the last 3 weeks of this trip and little by little, I'm getting ready to see all of you in Okinawa.

Thanks again and I'll see you soon!

-Ayden