the A-Bomb Dome
I walked down to the Peace Park and sat in front of the Dome. There were a few people around; some of them sitting on benches, some with cameras and some riding their bikes through the park. All in all it was very peaceful. The river was behind me, and, except for the occasional streetcar going over the bridge, it was very quiet.
Sometimes the light from inside the Dome would flicker a little, like it was a flame. Although I'm sure it was caused by the wind, I thought this was a nice touch.
After sitting there for a little while, what was most surprising to me was that I wasn't thinking about the hundreds of people that had died instantly right on this spot 59 and a half years ago. I wasn't thinking of the pain and the suffering of those hundreds of thousands of people in the surrounding area that didn't die instantly. I wasn't thinking of any role that members of my own family may have had in the destruction of this beautiful city. What I was thinking was this: I am traveling alone, in a country whose language I don't speak, in a city I've never been to before, and I am sitting beside a shell of a building, at night, beside a river, and I feel completely safe. This is unheard of... I would never walk near a river at night alone, let alone sit by one. I would never wander a city at night alone. But here, in Japan, I'm not concerned about all the possible bad things that could happen to me because there's a feeling of safety that I've never felt before. The lurking paranoia and need to look over my shoulder has receded. The only thing I need to really worry about is getting lost, which, thankfully, I don't worry about.
It's wonderful to feel this way, to feel this safe. And it's truly a shame that chances are slim that I'll ever feel this way in America.
