Underneath the Blossoming Cherry Tree

Have you ever appreciated how amusing it is to hear the school bell ring at the end of the last lesson of the day? After sitting through eight long and exhausting classes, often two of the same lesson in a row, it is a relief to finally leave your natural habitat and step out onto a beautiful spring afternoon. However, this was never true for me. Unlike anyone else, I loved school intensely, in the most peculiar and unexplained way. Interestingly, nothing has ever kept me in love with my school, but rather someone.

“As you hear your name while falling asleep, someone whispers it in their dream, they say.”

I walk ploddingly along one of the ten streets leading to my apartment block. Suddenly, I hear someone calling my name from behind. Unsurprisingly, I can instantly recognise his voice: youthful, a little hoarse, yet simultaneously tinkling at the end. His speech is artfully reciprocated with high and low pitches, making one think he’s talking while jogging. Consequently, that makes his early teenage years perfectly obvious. He catches up with me, his usual sparky eyes bursting with a smile, and asks about the upcoming history project. His tall shadow casts over mine, and we stop under a small cherry tree to exchange words.

“Love isn’t about finding the perfect person, it’s about seeing an imperfect person perfectly,” Osho said.

I assume I’ve created a concept of him and have enjoyed contemplating it since then. It’s a dangerous practice for a teenager, as she might eventually fall in love with the idea itself. However, in my case, it keeps the mind occupied, and the ambitious soul motivated to achieve higher goals, even if it’s just to impress the favourite one.

“Cherry petals in my hair,

Chanting the tunes of love and despair.”

A gentle April breeze softly creeps up, swirling the pale pink cherry blossoms around us. He reaches for one with his fingers and hands it to me with a swift gesture. Without uttering a word, as our eyes convey it all, we part ways.

In a study room, a resounding heartbeat drowns out my own thoughts. I gently place the cherry blossom in a carefully selected book from my bookcase, pressing it firmly between the pages to preserve and cherish the significant hour. This will also make a memorable contribution to my herbarium.

There is no certainty about future plot twists—no hopes, desires, plans, or attachments— just a strong essence of the present moment. I reflect on personal sensations and recognise the authentic nature of my emotions. I simply love the beauty of the here and now, the art of engaging in it while finding the joy of excitement and relishing it to the fullest. Arguably, this focus on current events holds great importance for discovering oneself and understanding one’s genuine character.

It is no coincidence that the herbarium book is a wise and thoughtful choice, symbolising the transition into adulthood—La Vita Nuova by Dante Alighieri.