Itsumi was a cheerful guest, showing interest in everything. She wasn’t shy when speaking with other travelers when sightseeing, and was the first to try local foods that others tourists would normally avoid. Despite her free-spirited attitude, she always matched my slow pace as I dragged my leg along, which showed, to me, that she was overflowing with compassion.
Itsumi and I spoke a lot of English together. Sometimes we’d all gather in Ema’s bedroom and talk the night away. Even though she only stayed with us for two short weeks, a strong bond formed between us; we could call each other close friends.
It’s an unfortunate truth that “time flies when you’re having fun.” Before we knew it, it was her last day. That night, we invited our neighbors over for Itsumi’s farewell party. We lined the dinner table with shish kebabs and shopskas filled with goat cheese, and treated our guests to homemade Rakia brandy. Mr. Hojo and Itsumi were delighted.
Itsumi wore a kimono with sleeves trailing to the floor, which she said was a type of formal dress for unmarried women. The kimono’s soft pink fabric was embellished with brilliantly-colored cherry blossoms and cranes. The sash on her back looked like a giant blooming rose.
Itsumi was as pretty as a painting. Wherever she moved, it seemed particles of light gleamed around her. I was captivated.
“What’s the matter, Diana?” Itsumi asked, grinning. She had noticed my gaze. “Are kimonos so unusual?”
“I’ve never seen one before. It’s incredible.”
“Well, thank you.”
“You brought it all the way here from Japan?”
“I did.”
I remembered the suitcase in Itsumi’s room. I told her I couldn’t imagine how two weeks of luggage and that big kimono could fit into her suitcase. Itsumi laughed. “Come to my room when the party’s over,” she said. “I’ll show you how I did it.”
Itsumi enchanted everyone at the party. All the guests praised her as an Eastern jewel, and asked her to dance. Despite her traditional Japanese sandals and the stiff cuffs of her kimono, Itsumi’s steps were light, and she cast her spell on the guests through the night. “Are all Japanese girls this beautiful?” I asked Mr. Hojo, who was leaning against the wall.
He laughed. “If everyone were as beautiful as her, Japan would be the best country in the world. Itsumi is special.”
After everyone left that night, I suddenly felt very lonely. Itsumi’s stay ends tonight. She’ll be leaving from Sofia Airport in the morning. I started sobbing while I washed the dishes in the kitchen. Then someone tapped me on the shoulder.
“Remember what I said? Do you want to come to my room?”
Itsumi told me Ema was helping my parents tidy up the living room. I wiped my hands on a towel and, as quietly as I could, followed Itsumi to her room.
We entered the room and she locked the door behind us. She stood in front of me and slipped off the flower that bloomed on her back. I couldn’t believe how such a large, glorious kimono could become so long and narrow! I was even more surprised to see the complicated shape of the kimono fold down into a thin rectangle. Itsumi tightly wrapped the kimono and sash in cream-colored washi paper. This type of washi paper was known as “kimono wrapping paper,” and was infused with turmeric leaves that repelled insects. Itsumi placed the tidily-wrapped kimono at the very bottom of her suitcase. It was only an inch thick and, even when combined with her traditional Japanese sandals, socks, and string sashes, all of her possessions only took up a small portion of the suitcase.
“See? It closes just fine.” Itsumi smiled.
Oh, how wise are the Japanese! I never thought that something so complex in shape could become so simple and small. It would fit perfectly in a drawer. You could go on a trip with ten kimonos in your suitcase and still have plenty of room. They weren’t like dresses, which didn’t fold up into neat rectangular shapes, with their frills and puffy outlines.
I heard that everything in Japan is compact. If that is true, then I feel that the kimono, made within that compact lifestyle, is the ultimate representation of Japanese wisdom. The kimono looked even lovelier at the bottom of the suitcase than when Itsumi wore it. To have thought of this design, the Japanese must have always been a unique and dignified race.
“Okay. Now you try it on.” Itsumi removed the kimono from the wrapping paper again and unfolded it. The dim and dingy bedroom instantly lit up with the brilliant colors of the kimono.
“Me? That kimono? Impossible.”
I was four inches taller than Itsumi, and I am big-boned and large-chested. I wasn’t petite like her. There was no way I would fit into her kimono.
“It’s going to look great on you. Put this on first.”
She ordered me to take off my dress. She took off her own under-kimono, put it on my shoulders, and skillfully adjusted my collar through the sleeves. The faint warmth of her skin and the sweet fragrance of her body lingered in the fabric. Itsumi was now down to her underwear. She continued to pull and tug the kimono into place. I was baffled as to how she was able to adjust the kimono to my dissimilar build.
She wrapped the sash in an intricate knot. It looked like a bird about to take off.
“It looks amazing. Look in the mirror.”
I looked at my reflection in the old and musty mirror. As she said, it did look nice on me. I felt strangely natural with it on. I enjoyed looking at the kimono, but I felt an even different pleasure when putting it on. It was as if flowers were blooming, brisk rivers were flowing, and birds were coming to life all over my body.
“I can’t believe you didn’t have to tailor it or something to fit me.”
“Right? This actually used to be my great-grandmother’s kimono.”
“You’re kidding!”
“My great-grandmother gave it to my grandmother, who gave it to my mother, who then finally gave it to me. It’s never been mended, not even once. Kimonos can cover slight changes in size and height, you know. I plan to give it to my own daughter, someday.”
How delightful! This wasn’t something you could do so easily with a dress. I wonder if Western countries also possess something as culturally intelligent as the kimono. Japan secretly wields a sublime culture hidden in the depths of its skyscrapers and brand-new technology, but if that isn’t the true strength of Japan, then I don’t know what is.
Although I wasn’t very familiar with Japanese culture at the time, I was so astounded by the wisdom and insight that went into the making of the kimono that I was under the impression that I would never experience something more culturally “Japanese.”
Though I have lived in Japan for a few months now, that impression still hasn’t changed. I’ve been blessed with opportunities to learn about tea ceremonies, ikebana, kabuki, and other forms of classical Japanese culture, but I still genuinely feel that Itsumi’s kimono, folded into a neat and flat rectangle at the bottom of her suitcase, was the most “Japanese” thing that I’ve ever seen.
“I’m going to take this off now. I don’t want to get it dirty,” I said.
Itsumi nodded and began to unravel the sash.
Kimonos cling tight to your body. Our arms crossed so many times while she undressed me, it was as if we were embracing. Our faces were so close I almost thought we’d kiss. I struggled to breathe. At first, I thought it was because the kimono was too tight, but I soon realized that it was having her so close—her long eyelashes, the fine hair on her soft cheeks, and the white base of her neck—that stole my breath.
She helped me out of the kimono, and I was suddenly down to my bra and underwear. Embarrassed, I hastily put my dress back on. Itsumi refolded the kimono and its under-cover, wrapped them together, and then put them back in the suitcase.
“I’m going to miss you so much when you leave,” I sighed.
Itsumi also looked forlorn. “I’m going to miss you, too. But I’ll be back. I promise,” Itsumi replied, giving me a tender hug.
My body temperature shot up as her cheek rested against mine. Her soft body. A vibration, like that of a fluttering butterfly’s wings, trembled between our chests.
I can’t count the number of times I regret not kissing her that day. If I had only slightly turned my neck, if I had only been a bit braver…I could have touched those sweet lips. But at the time I had already been struggling, trying my hardest to catch my breath. My emotions were ready to spill over at the slightest move.
Ema and I took Itsumi to the airport the next morning. Mr. Hojo was waiting for us at the airport. I couldn’t stop from tearing up, watching Mr. Hojo and Itsumi check in at the counter.
“Doviždane,” Itsumi said to me and Ema, which means “goodbye” in Bulgarian. She then embraced both of us.
She held me longer than she did Ema, probably because I had been crying so much, and gently caressed my back. I don’t want to let you go. I don’t want to let go of your arms, I thought to myself. Despite my unwillingness to part, time passed in its uncaring way, and it was really time to say goodbye.
“We’ll see each other again, right?” Itsumi asked with tears in her eyes.
“When?” I asked. Itsumi stopped to think for a moment.
“Next year.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Itsumi said with an encouraging smile. “Mr. Hojo, I want to come back to Bulgaria next year,” she announced, turning to Mr. Hojo. She must have been trying to show me that it wasn’t just an empty promise after seeing how lonely I’d looked. Mr. Hojo must have sensed what Itsumi was trying to do.
“Understood. I’ll start the negotiations right after we return,” he nodded. “So, there’s no need to cry, Diana. We’ll see you again next year,” he said, with a comforting grin.
While he was in Bulgaria, I didn’t get to spend too much time with Mr. Hojo. On the few occasions that I did, he was always reading one of his books. Despite his young age, he had a world-weary, serious air about him, always lost in deep thought, which made it hard for me to talk to him and gave me the impression that he was quite the strict professor. After he comforted me in this way, however, I realized that he was actually rather kind.
Itsumi and Mr. Hojo headed towards their gate. I watched Itsumi get progressively smaller as she walked further away. As foolish as it may be, I only realized I was in love with her after she had completely disappeared.