Selected Essays
from First Competition
(2005-2006) 2



My Japan
Nora Micheva (Ward Melville High School)
Imagine that amidst your normal life, you are teleported to a butterfly’s world. You live in harmony
with the butterflies and you forget you were different. Years after you have left, you doubt if you were a
butterfly, or it was just a dream.

My two year butterfly dream started in the heart of the ancient city of Kyoto, Japan, where we moved
from Bulgaria. As a mathematician my father obtained a research position in Kyoto University. Thus, not
knowing the language or culture, I found myself in the fourth grade of a public Japanese elementary school.

I could never imagine that in only two years Japan would become a part of me.

Pictures and sounds fill my mind when I think of my Japan. The bright red “torii” of Yoshida Jinja,
and the emblematic entrance of Kyoto University “Kyodai seimon mae” surround our traditional Japanese
house. I hear the cicadas’ cry and the university students, practicing their musical instruments late in the
summer nights. I see my school, and hear my classmates’ voices calling every morning at our door “No-ora
chan!” I feel their quick touches of my long hair, “Are you real?” I remember the cherry blossoms of the
Philosopher’s Path and the autumn leaves in the old Emperor Palace’s garden. Reading and writing kanji
and kana came hand in hand with learning to ride ichirinsha (unicycle), and taking calligraphy lessons that
made me appreciate the hard work, persistence and humility needed to create anything beautiful.

Japan is also in the many friendships we remember fondly. There is one person, however, that made
an indelible impression on me - Chie.

I first met her on a warm sunny day in Kyoto. My father’s watch broke and we looked for a place to
repair it. Skipping on the stone turtles in the sparkling waters of Kamogawa we crossed the river near
Demachi Yanagi station and found a watch repair shop in a very old Kyoto house. There was a genuine
enthusiasm and cheerfulness in the voice and body language of the girl behind the counter. Her smile lit the
dark and narrow shop.

She wanted to improve her English, so my father invited her to take lessons with my mother, who is
an English teacher. In the following two years we would see Chie every week, and not once did the smile
leave her face. She was always happy and didn’t look like she had a worry in the world.

Chie was an artist. For her paintings she used an ancient Kyoto tie dying technique called rozome.

This is an extremely intricate and slow process of layering acid dyes and wax on silk which has been sized
with a soybean ground. Although traditionally rozome was used to make kimonos, Chie used it for her
contemporary compositions. I remember Chie’s works in the Kyoto National Museum - enormous panels of
cloth paintings hanging from the ceiling and situated at different depths of the exhibition space, creating a
whole composition. It wasn’t only its beauty that impressed me so much. I wondered how such a small
woman could create such large (literally) works of art. I often listened to Chie explain to my mother that
because her room at home was so small she used both the walls and the floor simultaneously to dye, wax
and wash the fabric.

Soon after we met Chie, her father got sick of cancer and after a year passed away. Her mother took
care of her bedridden younger sister who was born paralyzed, and never talked or moved on her own. I
knew that, but was not even remotely prepared for what we saw visiting Chie’s house. Her sister was lying
surrounded by machines. Her whole body was twisted and small, but her face was beautiful with an angelic
white skin. It was both the prettiest and scariest sight in my life. Suddenly Chie’s sister reminded me of the
roses Chie painted in her compositions – transparent flowers in full bloom that dazzled you with their
beauty, but reminded you of the transience of life.

Chie’s grace and strength in the face of tragedy symbolize the Japanese woman in my eyes. She set an
example for me and made me want to be a better person. I often long for my butterfly world and hope to
return some day. As for the future, I’d like to share my Japan with other people and help them see the
beauty of Japanese culture.

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