I’ve always been fascinated by the philosophical concept of mono no aware, which, though literally translated as “a sensitivity to things,” I’ve always interpeted personally (and perhaps wrongly) to mean the idea that things are beautiful not just in spite of the fact that they are ephemeral, but because of it. That one of the qualities that makes the things we love beautiful is because they are dying and only here for a moment.

I was reminded of this while reading an article in the New York Times titled “Japanese Poetry Persists in Korea, Despite Disapproval,” which is about older Koreans who are scorned in their home country because they have a passion for writing haiku.

Japanese poet Reiko Yamaguchi is quoted as she explains one of the reasons for this disdain:

“Japanese and Koreans have different ways of perceiving nature,” she said. “Japanese tend to find maximum beauty when they see cherry flowers falling. Koreans’ hearts exult when the flowers are in full bloom.”

Something to think about when considering literary translation. Some things, while they are capable of being translated literally, might still not be able to be made to speak to everyone.

This might also explain one the the reasons I found Japan to connect with me so deeply during my visit last summer, and why I ache to return. I’ve always found the fact that things fade to be one of the reasons for their beauty, and rather than mourning, instead feel an aching poignancy.

I guess I must be Japanese.