You had a long day yesterday and you feel sick. You smell. And you don’t want to be reminded about it. You drag this new morning with a half-sleep, making your plain corned beef tastier with the miraculous egg. Fry, fry, fry.
The rice is ready, and all you need to do is jump into the food.
But you wanted a shower; want it warm, and steamy and soothing—you want yourself. So you grab your towel, and almost fly right into the bathroom. You imagine that warm, steamy, soothing sensation and how it teases you with thoughts of lovemaking, yes, only that it’s with water this time, and you get out of it satisfied, revived. Right now, it’s the only thing in the world that can make you feel better. Before getting in, you check your battle with gravity: 49.50 kgs. Feather-light, nonetheless healthy.
Now, the shower. You turn on the incandescent light, and the tiled everywhere brings you into this dreamy place of a desert—only that it’s a cold one. Bleak and cold. The more it makes you crave for that shower, that redemption, that oasis. You have to, you must.
Gently but with this wild tremor in your hand, you turn the shower knob. And you feel that it’s alive, a pulsating heart, untamed and in ignition. You’re going crazy, this orgy is making you crazy. Now, now, at last the shower!
Dumbfounded, your almost frozen brain can only think of that wickedly screechy tinge of pain brought about by knocking down scoopfuls of ice cream after taking coffee. And now, this cold shower, is by far of higher authority to torment you with the same sophisticated torture.
You think of ending it, and running away! Your mind insists you must. But how can reason defy this hard-headed willfulness that results from this cold, dreadfully cold, water gush? You struggled to stay. The fight is on. The cold water is getting more vicious every passing second. And your arms, hands, legs, eyes, ears, neck—who knows what else, are shouting at you like mad to get out of there and find the comfort of your scarlet towel. But you’re proving you’re more than a hard-head, for now you’re fighting not with it, but with your heart. One, two, five, seven seconds or so pass, the cold water beating you down. You alternate between shivering and laughing (or doing both at the same time). Because you know you are beaten but winning. You stand put, or, rather, you shiver put. And, like redemption which seems to present itself at the very last second, the cold water begins to be refreshingly cooler, like a brook in late spring, until it becomes warm, and warmer, and warmer. And now there’s the steam flying down like winged nymphs, and the tiled everywhere reflecting the bleak and cold desert seems to approach an oasis. And the cold water is now the hot, steamy, soothing bath that you needed. You wrinkle your nose; a smile on your face. That was a hell of a fight, and now you win.
And it dawns on you. You didn’t fight the cold water. You didn’t win it. There was never a battle between you and the cold water. Instead, you fought yourself, and won.
Spring in Japan begins with the plum blossoms. Somebody once told me they’re the sakura’s little sister. Saying that while the sakura seems to be a proud “bloomer”, her little sister’s quite timid. It’s still pretty though.
A park 20 minutes from my place has this really nice lake, and guess what, you can go boating! Yes, boating in a lake, with cherry blossoms on both sides of the bank.
Saw this man giving his painting some finishing touches while riding on my bike, Ms. Jitensha. The road, with cherry blossoms on both sides is 
seven people, out of the billions on earth, recorded to have had. Discover the nobility of the human spirit in Yuuki, who decided to run a marathon, gave out courage to friends rather than ask for it, while battling an illness he treated as a rival, gradually losing his vision, body slowly giving in to paralysis, not to mention foreseeable death.
