Untitled Monochrome Shot...........................................................................Francis Zhou

Ikebana

My mom and I walk into the Ikebana (Japanese flower-arranging) workshop, greet the tutors, and sit on two short stools in front of a wooden table. Being so familiar with the process, which I have been practicing for five years, I take a few seconds to figure out what to do next. Mom starts talking to the tutor about gardening. She has spent years taking care of the little garden on our balcony. I listen, then wander into my memories. I recall her smile when she showed off the blooming begonia to our tutor, her disappointing frown when she could not figure out the Nageire style (the hardest style of flower arranging- to stabilize all flowers by using crossing branches rather than a Kenzan holder), and her devotion when she tried to take a picture of her arrangement for a new social media post. Time passed. The whole year of distance learning brought my mom and I closer. We shared experiences. Through flower arranging, I have learned more about her than I have learned in Ikebana. The unspeakable challenges of adolescence flew past quickly while friendship grew. I learned the value of family. The smell of flowers brings me back to reality. I need to get up and get going. I have a mission today-- create an arrangement for my grandfather Xu, who died during Covid. Xu used to be a worker at a chemical plant, which made him more vulnerable when facing the pulmonary disease. It took me a few months to really start feeling the loss. I was deep in silence. I carry memories, love, and determination with me today. Here at the workshop, I am going to express my sentiments through an Ikebana product. I choose to use five-needle pine tree branches, purple irises, lighter purple balloon flower, and white baby’s breath and plan to make them in a Nageire style. This is only the beginning. For the next two hours, I sit in front of the flower materials, staring at the grave pine branches and springy baby’s breath, figuring out how their unique and delicate lines can be placed together. My back hurts. I have tried several times but still can not stabilize the pine with the purple irises. The powerlessness to twist nature almost discourages me, the arrangement needs to be perfect for Xu. My hands are still on the branches; I sigh; I stare blankly. I’m thirsty. I miss the ‘salty soda’ beverage (popular among old men in China) Xu would hand me when I lived at his house every summer break. I can almost taste the saltiness, but bitterness rises instead: I should’ve made time to visit this year as I promised to.

twenty-four