My cherry blossom dream spanned three decades, crossed two continents, and was born from one single promise.
This dream was simple — a vow by 8‑year‑old me. A promise to someday see Yuko again, my exchange teacher from Japan, whom I met in the third grade. She left a mark on me I couldn’t erase. I’ve been dreaming about Japan in hues of pink since.
My dream began in the analog age, and I brought it to life in the AI era!
Yuko escaped the neon buzz and bright lights of Tokyo at just 24 and stepped into my life for a year in my small town of Wetaskiwin, with a population of under 10,000.
She could have chosen Boston or Vancouver, but no, she decided to come to my prairie town.
Yuko wanted the exact opposite of her life in a mega-metropolis with 30 million other people. The quietness of a small town; the warmth of a tight-knit community. To have rural experiences like seeing a newborn calf with an umbilical cord still attached, down at my uncle’s farm.
A Canadian boy showed her that during the winter, she could use snow to wash her hands when sticky candy left her hands dirty. How charming, she didn’t realize snow warmed up turned into water!
In my eyes, Yuko was exotic, coming from the land of the rising sun to wild rose country. You’ve gotta remember—this was the 80s. Phones had cords and were stuck to your kitchen wall. There were no cell phones, no texting, no Google. If you wanted to learn something, you would go to the library and dig through encyclopedias.
Yuko was graceful, reserved, quiet and kind. She was eager to share her culture – I learned about origami and the tea ceremony. She shared the importance of the kimono and calligraphy. Most of all, she planted the seed of curiosity about another culture and with it a dream.
A dream to visit her in Tokyo during cherry blossom season. Affectionately known as the Sakura season. “Sakura” refers to both the tree and the flower itself. Cherry blossoms are a significant cultural symbol in Japan, representing the Arrival of Spring. A reminder of the fleeting beauty of life, a theme of renewal and impermanence.
I lost track of Yuko after briefly seeing her in grade nine, when she came back to see the Northern Lights on her last trip to Canada. I was able to reconnect with her in 2014 when I sent a letter to her asking if she remembered me. She sent a letter back saying she never once forgot!
This past March, I booked the time off, locked in my flight, grabbed my train pass, and lined up the hotels—I was ready.
Before meeting up with Yuko in Tokyo, I had planned a solo adventure, hopping through a handful of cities across Japan. Then, five days in Tokyo together—just Yuko and me!
Looking back, I recall my mindset in third grade—I truly believed I’d never leave my vast province of Alberta (which, by the way, is so large that you could fit about 3.6 Japans inside it). I’m grateful that I eventually moved beyond small-town thinking and adopted a curious, cosmopolitan mindset.
The morning of the reunification was an emotional experience. I couldn’t sleep the night before. I tried to keep my emotions in check as I boarded the train from Kyoto to Tokyo on that March morning.
Japanese culture values restraint in the demonstration of emotions and requires one to remain composed. The dream was unfolding in real time. My heart pounded, tears slipped quietly down my cheeks—I was overwhelmed. Excited. Nervous. After all this time, I was finally going to see her again.
The reunion took place in my hotel’s lobby. She welcomed me with an Alberta and Canada flag and the biggest Japanese smile! We visited a city park to take in the variety of cherry blossoms and the multiple shades of pink in the trees.
People sit under the blossoms to chat, enjoy a meal together, and talk about life. We had lunch, accompanied by the pink branches, and mulled over old photos and paper clippings from her time in Wetaskiwin. I gave her a personalized bracelet declaring our special friendship.
We ended up at a pub where we ordered beer. We had a toast, and Yuko said, “It’s a dream come true to drink with you,” and “I’m proud of you that you are an author.”
Yuko shared with me that if she were reborn, she would come back as a Canadian.
Such an emotional reunion that I was in bed and lights out well before 8:30pm.
For the next 4 days, we walked down Tokyo streets strewn with pink petals. We ate Sakura flavoured ice cream, tackled the Shibuya scramble, and practiced the Japanese tradition of making food replicas.
We enjoyed a rickshaw ride, visited temples and shrines, ate sushi, slurped ramen, and drank green tea in a traditional tea house. We made paper cranes under Tokyo Skytree, and she took me backpack shopping, as I was fascinated with children’s backpacks called randoseru.
We linked arms as we walked through the train station so we wouldn’t get separated. And it’s like time didn’t pass – we were the same – tied to each other’s hip.
It was the last day in Tokyo, and she escorted me back to the airport. As we were preparing to say our goodbyes, she walked me to the central security line. I felt my throat tighten, my chest get heavy, and the tears started to drop as I weaved through the security line, every step taking me further from her.
I kept turning back to see Yuko, both of us waving to one another —hoping we’d catch just one last glimpse. As I neared the checkpoint, my eyes blurred completely. Then, in a single moment, as I rounded the final corner, I couldn’t see her anymore. She was gone.
Life is like a cherry blossom season. Because this is it, these moments—your moments—will pass quicker than you think.
My story, all of our stories, are stitched together by fleeting beauty and heartbeats that don’t get a second chance. Those five days in Tokyo? They disappeared in the blink of an eye. One minute, we were laughing under trees dusted in pink; the next, I was watching her fade from view through blurry eyes at the airport.
We only get so many springs. So many blossoms. So many chances to say yes to life!
So what will you do with your time?
How will you spend your precious, wild, unrepeatable days?
Because life, like the sakura season, doesn’t last forever.