In Omotesando, we went to an exhibition. The painter was there as well, explaining about his paintings and asking for a small donation.
The pictures were mostly grotesque and scary, and one caught my eyes, especially for its title.
>>I’m sorry I survived<<
My heart clenched and I felt that this picture, showing a person pierced by giant nails, conveyed just what the title said. And the painter had caught a piece of the aftermath of the tsunami, of the feelings it left in the devastated areas.
I cannot stop watching footage of the day, throughout the last year. It hurts to imagine what they have gone through and how they had to watch houses, cars, people running being washed away.
How could this ever have been possible?
We sat there, looking at the ocean, which looked peaceful. The ocean fought against the breakwater, but gave up every time.
He murmured>>I don’t like these things.<<
I asked why, but I knew what the answer would be.
After a short laughter, he replied.
>> Just imagine a hand sticking out of there.<<