Gracefully dancing along with the relaxing melody of the springtime breeze, those ballerinas never cease to cheer me up. Slowly falling from above, the beautiful angels delivered perfect little pirouettes as they opened their invisible wings, painting the once bright blue sky with bits of pink. The park which used to only be green was now filled with feathers of pink, the wonderful scent of the freshly blossoming flowers now tainted the springtime breeze. And I closed my eyes to take in its scent, allowing it to my fill my nostrils, travel down my throat to warm my heart, almost as if it was a purifier of some sort.
I dragged my suitcase along the pathway, pink petals slowly stepping aside, allowing me to pass with each step I took. I began to hum a song I had once heard long, long ago – before I had left the comforts of home to pursue my studies overseas – as they danced all around me, like a masquerade of angels. They were dazzling, I thought – like stars that attracted attention both at night and in day. They need not be in the sky, among the darkness or the light to gain my attention. For even on the ground, among the most ordinary of objects, they would always get my notice first.
Even as I sat on a nearby bench, sipping on some warm green tea, I would put my book aside just to admire the performance of these falling stars. Even as one of them gently landed on the surface of my drink, I would smile and see my past painted on the very surface of those petals. Even as I got to the front gate of my home, where it seemed to me that angels blossomed and danced the most, I could not help the happiness that was bobbling inside me. So I admired every little detail of this tiny house I lived in – how the zinc roof was now covered with pink snow, how the little pond up in front now had fish swimming about, how my beloved parents stood at the entrance to all the cosiness I could ever dream of in the world, giving me the broadest of smiles filled with the best of love.
“I’m home!” I called out to them, the image of pink ballerinas now fragmented before my eyes. “Mom, Dad, I’m home!” I quickly opened the front gate and walked along the short pathway towards the entrance of my home. The angels embraced me, welcoming me home, gently landing on my head as I threw my arms around the couple.
“My, my, you’ve grown so much!” My father chuckled, his voice still as deep as always, the memories of my childhood echoing in it. My mother simply pulled away and wiped the tears from my eyes and hers. She sniffed and took in a deep breath, sweeping away the dark hair that had always been threatening to cover my eyes. I giggled, feeling like I had travelled back in time, to when I was barely up to their shoulders.
I allowed my lips to curl upwards, in sheer joy and happiness.
“We have missed that smile.” My mother said, hugging me again. “Welcome home, our cherry blossom.”
This is why I will always admire the pink angels. They would always remind me of home, giving me comfort. They would always remind me of my wonderful parents, who could easily devote their whole life to maintaining the cherry blossoms in our area, keeping them in the state of perfection and beauty during the blossoming periods. They would always remind me of the spring holidays I spent back home, standing in the porch, admiring their beauty, dancing in their showers. But that was how it would always work, I supposed.
Our names are Sakura, and we are the cherry blossoms. We danced together. And we made each other smile. We have the smile, the one that shows all humbleness, confidence, care and beauty wrapped in pink.
We have the Sakura Smile.
I chose to write this because the cherry blossom blooming period is around this time of the year (March and April). And also, because it’s the March holidays, and me being a foreign student – there’s no feeling that can be better than finally going home to see your family after a long time! 🙂 Besides, I enjoy Japan and there’s no denying that cherry blossoms are beautiful.
– Loo Yan Ling (2U)