The Language of the Soul...

When I finished my project assignment in Honkong mid-March this year, I decided to take two weeks off and travel around China. As soon as I got off the train at Loh Wu station in Shenzen, I knew that I was in a completely different world from that which I had known for the past 8 months.

No one understood English. No one understood my poor Mandarin. Not even the slightest bit.

Nonetheless with a copy of the lonely planet in one hand, a pen and paper in the other, and my wallet safely tucked away under my thick layer of clothing, I managed to get myself to the airport to take a flight to Shanghai. I had friends living there, so I knew that I will be able to manage somehow...

I spent a day in Shanghai (that was more than enough) and I decided to go on a journey that I had dreamt about after reading The Rape of Nanking by Iris Chan. I wanted to go to Nanjing to see the city that was destroyed by my people over 60 years ago. I wanted to walk on the soil and apologise for the atrocities, go to the war memorial museum to see for myself all the horrors that happened in those 6 weeks, I wanted to face everything and say to the city:"I apologise for my ancestors, I apologise on behalf of our children, because of what we have done to you, Nanjing, I'm sorry. I will never forget, as long as I live."

I managed to get a ticket at Shanghai station -- I wrote on a piece of paper the chinese characters for Nanjing, one person, one way, and that seemed to work. Once on the train I did not know where my seat was so I sat in any ol' place when one guy came to me and gestured that I have the wrong seat, and that my seat was further down the carriage. It happened that I actually didnt have a reserved seat and eventually got kicked off the seat that the man lead me to... The man had been watching me, the silly foreigner, being moved from seat to seat only to end up standing in the corridor of the carriage.

Train journeys in China are interesting. People play mah jyong in the corridors while vendors come and sell their wares: anything from flashing ballpoint pens to bottles of vinegar and some form of distilled alcohol. The corridor is a dynamic community of people walking, talking, and selling things -- a bazaar of sorts is all I can describe.

Anyway, back to my language of the soul. The man who had watched me being moved from seat to seat noticed that at the first stop the lady sitting next to him was getting off. Chinese people are not shy and there were many people standing in the corridor ready to pounce on that empty seat... but no. That man guarded the empty seat, and gestured me to come and sit there -- he felt bad that I had been lost without a seat all that time.

I took his offer and sat next to him.

As soon as I sat down he started speaking to me in Mandarin(?) so I did my usual "get by in China" routine and took out a pen and paper, and asked him to write what he was trying to say.
Where are you from? Japan. Mother Japanese. Father foreign. He smiled at me and offered me the distilled alcohol that he was drinking. "SheShe"("Thank you"the only mandarin that I knew) and exchanged smiles.

Where. You. Go? - I wrote on my paper. Tsintao. Tsingtao? alcohol Tsingtao? yes. I like Tsingtao beer (laughter). Where. you. go.?　Nanjing. I sorry. Japanese bad things war. I apologise to people of china. I go Nanjin. Pray.

He had tears in his eyes. He offered me another drink and for the next 3 1/2 hours we had a conversation on a piece of paper. There was no need for spoken words. We talked about him visiting his family in Tsingtao, about the great vinegar that they make in Chinkiang (which is between Shanghai and Nanjing) , the beauty of Nanjing city, and how he was honoured to meet a Japanese person on a pilgrimage of reparation, and that his people have forgiven what had happened during the war because of people like me. We were nearly running out of paper when the man called out to the carriage asking if someone had paper. They did.

A circle grew after people realised that the two of us, drinking distilled alcohol, were having a conversation on paper -- many were fascinated by this odd looking foreigner who wrote chinese characters, was claiming to be Japanese, and was on a pilgrimage to Nanjing to pray for the lost souls and apologise for what we did to the Chinese people during the war.... I will never forget those wonderful hours spent on that train to Nanjing

When it was time for me to leave, the man who invited me to sit next to him gave me a small bottle containing tea, and wished me well on my journey. Luckily one of the women witnessing our conversations helped me to find a taxi to take me to where I wanted to (at a lower price than what was on the lonely planet!!) and spent an entire afternoon at the war memorial museum in Nanjing.

I will not describe what I saw in the museum, but all I can say is that I had tears in my eyes, and those around me, as soon as they found out that I was Japanese welcomed me and said:"We forgive you" in the universal language of the soul...

The tower of Babel may have come down, and we speak different languages on the surface, but as humans I believe that we still speak a universal language of the soul.

Thank you, good people, for helping me along my pilgrimage... I will never forget your kindness.

Great Wall at Simatai... so peaceful, so empty...

Iris Chan, please rest in peace, your work has moved the hearts of millions. I will never forget your work.