No Words
I talk. A lot. More than just talking a lot though, I talk incredibly fast. I’m talking a wpm (words per minute) that could beat out Eminem in Rap God. If John Irving was so successful in depicting Owen Meany’s personality, by WRITING IN ALL CAPITALS TO EXPLAIN THAT HE SHOUTED, then whatineedtodoiswritelikethissothatyoucanunderstandthatitalkincrediblyquickly. However, that would make it infinitely more difficult for the reader, so I’ll save you from this burden.
It is something I have grown almost numb to until I meet a new person, or talk to my grandparents. Most people have grown accustomed to my talking speed or have simply learned to tune me out effectively, knowing just the right time to nod and say “Oh yeah of course,” while quickly changing the subject.
So, when in my sophomore year in high school I was elected to join People to People as they explored Japan in a Student Ambassador program, I was ecstatic! What better opportunity to learn a new language, to learn new words? But in case you didn’t know, Japanese is pretty difficult. A two-week stay wasn’t going to cut it.
After traveling 7000 miles to stay with my host family, I was more than ready to set up the bamboo mat that was my bed for the next three nights. The one hiccup in this amazing opportunity was that my host parents only knew one word of English: “Hello.” Needless to say, for a 16 year-old-girl whose biggest asset is her knack for words, I was terrified. As we left for dinner hundreds of words were bouncing off the walls of my skull; unfortunately none of those words happened to be in Japanese. For one of the first instances in my life, I was left utterly speechless.
I talk about this moment because I realized in the three days at the Hamasaki household that there are times in my life when words will not communicate what I need say. A smile, a wave, a laugh, or the rapid shaking of the head in the universal “no” motion when offered a fish eyeball, will do the trick instead.
In this three-day period, Mr. and Mrs. Hamasaki taught me the importance of both watching others’ body language and listening - not just to words, but tone of voice. More importantly, they taught me there is a time for talking and there is a time for silence.
As we walked together through the Hiroshima Peace Park we paused on the collection of paper cranes in the memorial of Sadako Sasaki. American and Japanese, we walked hand in hand, Mr. and Mrs. Hamasaki on either side of me. No words were exchanged. Simply the bow of the head and a somber expression. It was in this moment that words seemed almost meaningless. Mr. Hamasaki’s look of sadness, forgiveness and utter serenity were worth more than all the words I could fit into a 24-hour day (273,600).
When I returned to my group after those three days, Mrs. Hamasaki and I cried as we hugged goodbye. Without speaking more than the word “Hello” to each other, we had formed a deep connection by working together to find ways of communication.
As I boarded the bus and it drove away, I sat waving out the window until we turned the corner. As I slouched back down into my seat, my friend Cindy turned to me, asking, “How was it?” With a smile on my face I said simply “Hello” turning back to the window, hoping the bus would stay silent just a little bit longer.
