graveyard doll

My train arrived at Hakodate at 6:41am. After checking in to the hotel, I wandered to the street.

I saw an URK (Unidentified Road Kill) on my way. It could be a cat, a dog, or a new species of alien hamster. It was decayed beyond recognition.

I took a picture of it with my digital SLR camera. I also documented it with my PDA and recorded the location with my GPS. All these so I can immortalize that moment into eternity. Thousand years later, when people look at the picture of this small furry animal's body, they can tell where it was, when it happened, and they could replicate my thought and feeling at that particular moment.

It is debatable whether a roadkill is worthy to be immortalized, but my idea of immortality is the same as public health care: it shouldn't be a privileged to a small group of lucky people or things.

Anyway, I continued my quest for immortality. On my way, I immortalized a group of turnips, some bird poops, and some seafood restaurants...

My destination was the foreigners' cemetery. But even with the guidance of my advance GPS system, I still lost my way and ended up in the local people's cemetery, which is on the opposite side of the peninsula.

It was nice all the same. I was surrounded by sleeping people. Those who would never be disturbed by the noise of my footsteps, nor would they disturbed me on a quite Tuesday morning walk.

According to the tourist map, there was a graveyard of a famous poet, Ishikawa Takuboku around this area. I had no idea who he was, but since he was famous enough to be placed upon the tourist map, I thought it must be worthy to seek him out.

I saw a doll lying on the side of the road. Her face white and shiny, like porcelain, her green kimono was dated, and fading.

As a routine I took a picture, recorded the location and documented it with my PDA. I was going to leave her like that, but the doll was staring at me, begging me to pick her up. Through her dark little eyes, I saw her soul. Her little soul gave me the permission to steal her from the graveyard.

Technically I wasn't stealing. I've checked the tombs around, they belonged to some old men or women, too old to play dolls. She was clearly abandoned, probably by a local kid who just bought a Nintendo Wii.

I picked her up and gave her a name. I called her Midori, after a sushi restaurant I visited in Tokyo. I whispered her name in her ear, but then I found out she didn't have ears.

I wrapped her up in a 7-eleven plastic bag and the whole package fitted nicely into my backpack.

*After note: Later when I returned to the hotel, I found her photo was missing, probably deleted accidentally when I tried to clear some space so I can take pictures of some ducks. But the doll was still in my backpack, so I thought I could always take a picture later. I kept procrastinating. Eventually, I donated her to the Jinja and forgot about the picture until it was too late. The picture you see here is from the same shrine I donated her to. She was a bit smaller than this doll, but much prettier. My doll was wearing a green kimono, but the doll in this picture was wearing a blue kimono (which I painted green artificially). Also the doll I got was made of wood. I'm not sure the doll in this picture is made of wood or ceramic.

Finally I found the tomb of Ishikawa Takuboku. As expected, he was very important because there was a large paragraph of text in English and Japanese dedicated to him.

According to the text, he was a brilliant and renowned poet of the Meiji era and had close connections with Hakodate. He lived there only a short time from May to September in 1907. During his stay he lived together with his family, and spent a cozy life with the warm support of a literary group called "Bokushukusha." Takuboku liked the people and atmosphere of Hakodate so much that he once remarked, "I'd like to die here in Hakodate..." However, on April 1912 his life of 27 years came to a close in Tokyo, suffering from a disease.

In accordance to his wife's wish, Takuboku's ashes were brought to Hakodate in March 1913. Then in May, Setsuko passed away only a month or so later, as if to follow her late husband.

In August 1926 his grave was erected by both Miyazaki Ikuu, his brother-in-law, who was also a poet, and Okada Kenzo, the chief of Hakodate Library then. Takuboku and his wife, three beloved children and parents are all lying in eternal sleep there, listening to sea roars of the Tsugaru Straits.

As usual, I took the picture, record the location and copied the text in my PDA. But later, to my horror, I found out I took the wrong picture. They really should put the text closer to his tomb, not next to someone else tomb.

When I was taking a picture of this "tomb of silence", I felt something was moving in my backpback.

I froze. My mind automatically refresh to the movie trailer from the Killer-Doll. I hesiated a long moment before I summon enough courage to open my bag. "Midori," I whispered. There was no answer. Only silence.

When I took a picture of this "tomb of the fireman", my backpack started to move again. This time I didn't wait. I opened it right away.

The 7-eleven plastic bag was shaking. I opened the bag. Midori stared at me, silently, unmoving, as if asking me, "What? Why are you staring at me?"

It was then I realized the source of vibration wasn't from inside, but it was from beneath. And beneath the bag, I found my PDA (which I placed there right after I documented Ishikawa Takuboku's tomb).

The vibratring alarm was on, there was a note to remind me to clean the filter on my computer. OK, I guess I shouldn't download my whole outlook calendar into my PDA.

Anyway, I took out the PDA and documented the whole incident with it.

I passed by the poem monument of Yosano Hirosh and I recorded the English text next to the monument. Here's what it said:

In 1956 the 13th anniversary of Okada Kenzo's death was held. Okada Kenzo is known as the founder of Hakodate Municipal Library and he served as its first curator.

On this occasion, Toshorikai, an association of book-lovers was organized and was named after Okada's pen name. In 1957 this association erected a monument in honor of Okada Kenzo on which has been inscribed the poems composed by Yosano Hiroshi (a famous Japanese poet known by his pen name Yosano Tekkan) and Yosano Akiko who had come to Hakodate in 1931, with the support of the Bonimoriya company.

Okada Kenzo has been described in the poem of Yosano Akiko as Okada Sensei (great teacher). And in the poem by Yosano Hiroshi, Okada Kenzo's best friend, Miyazaki Ikuu, appears.

When I took this picture, again I felt someone was looking at me. I turned around and saw him.

He was wearing a uniform, not the uniform of a dead soldier, but the uniform of someone who works in the Park. He didn't look ghostly at all, which was due to the quite obvious fact that he wasn't a ghost.

He talked to me in Japanese, and so I didn't understand a word he said. But from his expression, I could tell he was wondering why I walked around there taking pictures of tombs.

So I tried to explain to him in English which he didn't understand at all. And we walk along the trail, talking in our own language, exchanging greetings, laughing, and pretending we understand exactly what the other is saying.