Water Colors

Photography by Nathan Honderick

I exit through the sliding door in my blue towel and enter into the main room. My mattress lay surrounded by more potted plants and to the left is the kitchen, a closet, a standard wood table and one chair. I open my closet and throw on baggy dark blue shorts and a black tank top. Breakfast consists of toast with half a grapefruit. As I eat, I peer out the window to see the city around me. 

I open my laptop and look over at all the unfinished books I’ve started writing on my computer's desktop, most of them fictional stories for children.  I reach for one titled, “Living in the City with my Little Sister.” All of my books are made of recycled paper and include a small packet of plant seeds attached to the inside back cover. I spend my morning and afternoon typing and illustrating the book. I decide to take a break and go for a walk to clear my mind. As I step outside I take in the busy atmosphere of cars speeding by, people with faces buried in phones hurrying to their next destinations.  I look around to see the old buildings, wondering how long they have been there. 

I arrive back at my apartment and get back to work on my book while eating dinner, which consists of miso pan-fried salmon and oven-roasted potatoes.  I stay up late to finish it, and I email my publisher the completed manuscript. 

            I water and tend to all of my plants, making sure my seedlings along the windowsill are healthy. I drink a cup of mint tea while gazing out the window. I curl up in my blankets and stare at the ceiling allowing my deep thoughts to overcome me, allowing myself to slowly fall asleep.   

The next two weeks, I spend most of my days working my other job as a coffee shop barista and wait to hear back from my publisher.  Finally, I receive the news that my book will not be published, and I suddenly feel the need to get away. I have always been infatuated with the Japanese culture and language, so I immediately have the idea to go to Japan and assist with an orphanage. I know from my own personal experience that many orphanages in Japan are overcrowded and in need of volunteers. Over the next month, I take extra shifts at the coffee shop to fund my trip. I search from website to website on what places need the most help, and I find an orphanage located in Fukushima. I apply to volunteer for two months.

A couple of days later I receive an acceptance notification. After raising enough money and brushing up on the Japanese culture and language, I pack my bags filled with books, including, “Living in the City with my Little Sister.” I also pack clothes, classic American snacks, and art material for the children at the orphanage. I arrive at the airport and board the plane near the back next to a mother and her small child. I relax and spend much of the flight in anticipation, thinking about the children in the orphanage and what they will think of me. My mind begins to race and doubt my decisions. I close my eyes and imagine my small apartment, warm and safe, filled with the plants that keep me company while I write. I open my eyes and remember I’m on a plane headed to Japan in hopes of young children that need love and support. I remind myself that this is my purpose, to help those in need that can’t help themselves.

I arrive in Honshu and take the complex system of subways in order to get to the orphanage. Examining all of the people on their way to their destinations talking on the phone in a fast-paced walk, the teenagers heading to high school in the morning all in their uniforms. All the commotion in the underground train stations and the small shops selling Japanese candy. I get on the next train and find my seat. Across from me sits a businessman with his wife and child, who are both half asleep. I look out the window to see all the buildings in a blur as we speed past the city. I arrive in Fukushima in the HamaDōri region close to the coast just a short time later. As I arrive at the orphanage I count twenty-three children ranging in age from three to eighteen years old playing in the yard. The orphanage looks much like any other home and is surrounded by trees and greenery. It is two stories tall made of concrete with a few windows. A man in his 30’s wearing black pants and a plain blue shirt opens the door and gives me a formal greeting, inviting me inside. His name is Hisao Saito. I take off my shoes, put my slippers on, and step onto the dark wood flooring. The interior of the home is plain but tidy with each bed well made. All the sheets are an identical blue with a small table beside each bed. Belongings and clothes are stored under the beds. In the kitchen, there is one elderly chef who appears to be preparing soup with tofu. I enter another room to see children sitting quietly in perfect rows of chairs, listening to a lesson being taught. I notice that there are no older students in the room. 

“Where are the others?”

“The government can only give so much money. Students of 17 and older start working in order to get used to going out and living their lives on their own.”

 The teacher dismisses the children. They grab their things and walk past me, many of them glancing at me curiously as they make their way to the dining room. I follow after them with Saito behind me. In the dining room, the children stand in line to receive their food and then sit down at a long table. When everyone settles down Saito stands at the end of the table. 

“I would like you to meet Amor san, she is from Missouri and will be staying with us for two months in order to help out. She writes books, and she works at a coffee shop.”

I smile nervously. “Hello.  I hope I can help with whatever this house needs. If you need anything please let me know.”

The children look a little longer and then go back to their meals. Saito offers me the tofu soup, and I thank him and the chef. I sit with the children to eat. A boy sitting beside me looks at me and smiles. 

“What is your name?”

“Akio”

“How old are you?”

“Seven” 

“Do you like to read?”

He shrugs

I finish my food, introduce myself to the chef, and begin to wash the dishes. The children leave and the chef joins to help clean the dishes. 

“What brought you here?”

“Well my publisher had recently rejected my book, so I felt like I needed to get away, and helping children has always been my passion.”

She nods and continues washing the dishes. I finish and go outside to see all of them playing around. The younger ones play in the dirt while the others run around. I walk up to the older children, who are chatting off to the side of the field, and I greet them. 

“I heard you are an author. What do you write about?” one of them asked. 

“Mostly children’s books, but sometimes I write poems or fictional stories.”

“What is the best piece of literature you have written?”

“I wrote a poem about my favorite thing which is plants.”

“Why plants?” another asks. 

“Plants start from one small seed but feed many. They help build a house, allow life to  breathe, and so many other things. I’m fascinated by their complexity.”

“Interesting.”  

“Are any of you interested in writing?”

Most of them shook their heads, but the two who appeared to be oldest shrugged hesitantly. 

“We share ideas and exchange stories sometimes,” one of them said.

“Oh well maybe I could see them sometime.” 

“Maybe.”

Saito calls everyone inside for the next lesson. 

“Amor san, are you ok with teaching English for this lesson?”

“Of course!” I replied enthusiastically. 

I enter the classroom to see all of them seated, their eyes fixed on me.

“Hello class. Can everyone count to 100?”

They all nod, and I keep asking questions, slowly finding out on what level they are at with their English. I decide to begin with a grammar lesson. 

At the end of the lesson I run to my bags and grab my books. I pass them out and tell the students to read aloud to each other. Then I instruct them to pass the books along to another group so each group may read the next story aloud. 

They all go outside, and I bring seeds that I bought near the train station on the way there. I go up to the smaller children playing in the soil. 

“Do you guys want to plant some seeds?” I ask. 

They all grin excitedly then stand while brushing off their hands and knees. The other children are watching and observing. I lead them to a patch of dirt and teach them how to sow rows of plants into the ground. I then show them how much water to give them. I wash their hands and tell them to get ready to go inside. One of the younger ones, Hinata, walks up to me while I’m resting on a nearby bench.

“Can I touch your face? I haven’t seen freckles before.”

I nod and his small little fingers touch my face, carefully brushing over the freckles. With a curious look, he continues brushing his thumbs over my thick eyebrows. A warmth goes over my body and I smile.  I feel so trusted and loved, something I haven’t felt in a long time. The other children are suddenly gathering around us and also reach out to touch my freckles and hair.  

After spending time outside they come back inside for another class, but this time it’s a math lesson. I was never good at math, but maybe I could show them a few tricks on solving equations. After the math lesson the older children come back and there is one more class until the end of the day. Saito chooses an art lesson, which happens to be my favorite subject.  I guess this lesson is to help the older kids relax after work. I take out my art supplies and pass them out to all the children while greeting the older kids who don’t seem super interested in me. I’ll have to work out that later but for now I’m going to teach the kids how to have fun with art. I show them the certain techniques of watercolor because that’s my favorite material to use. Water colors make it seem like it’s more bound to the paper, like it belonged on the paper before the artist decided which color to choose or what to draw. I bring out a large piece of thick paper and attach it to the board and begin to draw. 

“Now there is no right way to draw something, but if you choose something meaningful to you, it will be easier to make it come to life,” I tell them.  

After the lesson we all have dinner together, and I decide to sit with the older kids to get to know them better. 

“Did you like the lesson I taught today?” I ask. 

They all nod but still focus on their food. 

“What are your jobs?”

“Factory workers” says one and points to two others.

“The rest clean at hotels” says another.

“Do you guys need any help with anything?” 

“What’s it like in America?” one of them asks, changing the subject. 

“Well the thing about America is that you can come from a poor area, but still make it to the middle class if you work hard and play your cards right. You just have to make sure you have good social skills and good credit.”

We continue talking about America and the stereotypes of the country. They share their opinions of Japan, which aren’t very positive, but I’m not surprised. After the meal I help the older kids with the dishes then assist the younger children with their homework. I then get the younger ones ready for bed, and after everyone is settled in their beds, I bring out the book the publisher had recently rejected. I read the entire thing aloud and by the time I finish the book, nearly all of them are asleep.  I bring out my CD and put it in the old CD player plugged into the wall.

“This playlist I made myself, and one is a song I wrote. I hope the music helps you fall asleep like it does for me. Goodnight.” 

“Good night” they say in unison. 

As I exit, I turn around to see Saito, and he smiles.

“You did a great job today taking care of the children. You are really good with them” Saito tells me as I emerge into the hallway. 

“Thank you. I grew up with siblings of my own so that’s what gives me the ability to be around them without them pushing away most of the time.” 

“Well goodnight Amor san.”

“Goodnight Saito san.”

I go to my small room and brush my teeth and wash my face then plop onto the thin rolled out futon next to my luggage stashed in the corner. As I lie there, I think about all the children I met that day. I smile thinking about them touching my face. I then slowly doze off and finally fall into a deep sleep. 

The next few days I continue my English lessons and get to know the children who play tag outside. I show them how to play freeze tag, which seems to be a hit. I have tickle fights with the younger ones and give them some new clothes from America that I had packed. I give the oldest ones the American packaged food so they can eat it on breaks during work. 

I discuss with Saito bringing one child out on an errand each day so they could see what the city is like, and he agreed only if I was out for less than three hours in the morning and left my passport and license with him. So each day I begin taking one child and show them the subway stations, take them out to eat, and allow them to buy something small. After three weeks everyone had gotten more comfortable with me being around. I exchanged poems with the two children, Hanako and Kazuko, who liked to write. Most of the seeds planted from the first day started to sprout, and I teach the children to  care for them. I feel like I am making great progress and that these children genuinely enjoy my company. I continue my stay and begin work on a new book called “Water Colors.” 

The night before I leave I have dinner with everyone, and a special meal is prepared for the occasion. Everyone gets their own piece of ahi sashimi along with stir fried vegetables from a nearby farm with rice. All the children are talking, smiling, and getting along. I’m going to miss them all so much, including the older ones, even though they seem cold and distant at times. After everyone finishes, I stand and all eyes are on me. 

“I hope that you all enjoyed my stay here. This experience has opened my eyes, and hopefully I will be able to return to visit again if that is ok with Saito san. I am so glad I was able to meet with all of you. Thank you for letting me stay and experience this.”

They all smile, and Saito tells me I am welcome back anytime.  After I finish doing the dishes, I help the children with their homework and get them ready for bed once more. 

“Amor san?” says Hinata

“Yes?”

“Since you are leaving tomorrow can I sleep in your bed tonight?” he asks while looking down at his feet.

“Yes, of course” I reply. 

He hugs me, then I pick him up, toss him in the air, and set him down. We share the small futon and dive into a deep sleep. 

“Come on it’s time to wake up” I say as the sun shines through the window. 

I hear a groan and then he stretches his arms out. I get up and pack my bags then look at all the children in the main bedroom still asleep. I leave the CD on the stand and return to my room. 

“Are you going to write to me?”  Hinata asks.

“Yes of course, and try writing a few sentences in English when you write, ok?”

“I will” he says, holding back tears. 

He runs and hugs me and then whispers in my ear.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you too. I love you” I tell him.

“I love you too”

I leave my room to find Saito, and I give him an envelope with money in it. 

“I will be leaving now, thank you for letting me stay.”

“Thank you for helping and donating, you are always welcome back” He says with a smile. 

I say farewell to the rest of the staff and leave the orphanage and return home. Returning to my small apartment, I already miss the giggling wherever I go. I take a nice long shower and then unpack my bags. I fall onto the couch and take a deep breath and sigh. I open my laptop and create a new document.  I then begin writing all about the children and their stories. I type all day without a break, and yet that night the story still doesn’t seem quite complete. Over the next few months, I work on my books, revising the one that was rejected, while also continuing with “Water Colors.” I’m also back to work at the coffee shop. Winter passes and a few letters have been exchanged. Hinata writes about the crops he’s planting from the seeds Saito gave him, and he describes, in vivid detail, the art he creates. He talks about the other children, Saito, and his little world of innocence. Then one day I open my laptop to look at the news and read that a large tsunami has hit Japan. My heart sinks. 

I call the orphanage immediately, but there’s no answer.  I search the internet to find information on where it hit. It was the same area the orphanage is in with the nuclear power plant nearby. I start hyperventilating. I start breaking down. I can’t focus. I can’t breath. Tears are streaming down my face. This isn’t helping. I need to find a way. I’m crying on the floor. 

Hours pass by and I’m still searching for new information when I get a call. 

“Amor san?  It’s me Saito. I'm out of the area with Hinata, and the teenagers were at work when it happened. But the rest of them... I don’t know.” I can hear the tears in his voice. 

“Ok. Get the kids from work and make sure they are ok” I tell him. 

“Do you know if they are ok?” Saito asks, his voice quivering. 

“No I’m sorry. Saito san, you can’t do anything to help them right now, but you need to make sure the others are ok.” I try to remain calm as I reassure him. 

“Ok” he says, “Goodbye.” 

I hang up and am a little more relieved to know that Hinata is ok, but I’m still worried about the others. It’s Saito again.

“Are you ok, is Hinata ok?” I ask. 

“Yes. Amor san, the ones left at the orphanage. They didn’t survive.” he says. He starts to break down. 

Tears are streaming down my face. 

“I found their bodies, Amor san what do I do?”

“Find as much money as you can, and find a place to stay as far away from the area as you can.”

He hangs up, and I can’t breath. My chest feels like it’s ripping apart. I crumple to the ground and start bawling my eyes out. I don’t sleep during the night.  When I close my eyes I see the pale faces of all the children and staff on the ground in a row. 

Three weeks after everything happened,  I traveled to Japan to pay my respects. I find Hinata and the rest and give them all a long hug. They cannot stay here. One of the few things that survived was the safe with all the extra money put in from the work the older ones had been doing, along with all of the donations.  That’s all we had, and we didn’t know what to do with it. I suggested trying to try and find any homes that were willing to take some children under small payment of rent. Luckily, we eventually found a family that allowed us to stay for a couple of nights. The government then placed just the children in a home, but not Saito. 

“I will be fine on my own” he said, reassuring me. 

“Are you sure?” I ask. 

“Yes, I will be helping the village. There is much debris and wreckage to clean up.”

“Ok, good luck” I tell him before heading for the airport. 

When I return to my apartment, all I can think of is writing.  I need to share my story. I look over at “Water Colors” sitting in the corner of my room next to the Japanese children’s artwork. I knew what I needed to do. 

After a week of late nights and too many coffee cups to count, I finish the book and head to the post office. A few days later, I got the good news. My book was going to be published.  

Hinata still sends me letters, and I always reply back. I can hear the struggle in his words and know that he is suffering. Three months later,  I get a letter from Hinata that he is going to be adopted and will be living with a couple in Portland. I’m so excited I can’t believe it. He told me that the couple adopting him had read my book and decided to reach out to the orphanage where Hinata was living. I tell him I will visit him and read stories to him every month. 

The next letter I receive is after Hinata has arrived in Portland.  He describes his new parents, telling me they are kind and loving and also tells me how much he cares for the new dogs he has. He includes his phone number, and I called right away to ask when I can come over. 

“You can start heading this way today. I understand what it’s like to be far away from someone you love” Hinata’s adopted mother tells me. 

I pack my bags and head for Portland. When I arrive, I meet Hinata’s new parents. Hinata bursts through the door and hugs me tightly. That night I read him “Water Colors” and we reminisced about Japan, Saito, the garden he had started, and the other children at the orphanage. 

I continue visiting him often. Hinata loves to run in the sprinklers, play fetch with his dog, and paint pictures. We have started a new garden at his house. The flowers have just started to bloom, and I can see that Hinata is becoming hopeful again. I still have bad days where I feel like I can’t get out of bed,  but I think of the flowers in the garden and the water sprinkling down on them, bringing new life to old soil,  and things start to feel a little bit better