Sakura and Joss Paper in Ikebukuro, Tokyo: The "Dual Nostalgia" of a Study-Abroad Accompanying Mother
03 Dec 2025
In March in Tokyo, the old cherry tree in Ikebukuro Park was spreading its petals like a pink cloud. Sister Li squatted under the tree, spreading a plain linen cloth on the stone steps covered with cherry blossoms. On the cloth were three things: Tokyo wagashi that her daughter loved most, sake that her husband had favored during his lifetime, and a stack of joss paper printed with Mount Fuji and cherry blossom patterns—a "Japanese version of Heaven and Earth Bank" new notes she had specially asked the owner of a Chinatown shop to customize.
This was Sister Li's third year in Tokyo accompanying her daughter to study, and her third cherry blossom season since her husband passed away from a sudden myocardial infarction. On the day her daughter was admitted to Waseda University, her husband had cried for half the night while holding the admission notice, saying, "Finally, our daughter can go to the best school." But before he could send his daughter to Tokyo, he collapsed in his office after working overtime. On his deathbed, he clutched Sister Li's hand, his breath weak but firm: "Don't tell the child. Wait until she graduates... Don't affect her studies."
During the first cherry blossom season in Tokyo, Sister Li sneaked to Ikebukuro Park while her daughter was reporting to school. At that time, she hadn't found a place to buy joss paper, so she drew simple gold ingots on yellow paper and burned them secretly behind the cherry tree. The wind carried cherry blossoms into the fire, and the paper ashes, wrapped in petals, drifted into the air. She squatted on the ground crying, clamping her sleeve tightly between her teeth for fear of being seen by passing Japanese people. That day, she made a video call to her younger sister in China, who said, "Brother came to me in a dream and said he didn't receive the money. Could it be that the ones you drew weren't proper?"
Later, Sister Li found a grocery store in Shinjuku Chinatown. When the owner heard her story, he specially customized joss paper printed with Mount Fuji and cherry blossoms for her: "This way, when brother receives it over there, he'll know you're doing well in Tokyo." During the second cherry blossom season, she had just lit the joss paper when she heard a sob behind her—a woman in a navy blue windbreaker was holding a plastic bag with fresh Shanghai green rice cakes inside, staring at her with red eyes. "I thought I was the only one secretly burning paper here," the aunt wiped her tears and said. She had come to accompany her son to study at the University of Tokyo, and her husband had passed away the previous year.
That day, the two squatted side by side under the cherry tree. Sister Li gave her half a stack of cherry blossom joss paper, and the aunt gave her two green rice cakes. "My husband loved sweet things; he would definitely like this green rice cake," the aunt placed the pastry on the cloth. "Look, the cherry blossoms falling on the paper ashes are like covering spring with a golden quilt." They talked until dark, from how to cook hometown dishes for their children to how to worship secretly without being noticed. The more they talked, the closer they felt—this longing hidden from their children had become a secret only they could understand in a foreign land.
This year's cherry blossom season was particularly lively, with five study-abroad accompanying mothers gathered under the cherry tree. Sister Li brought Tokyo wagashi, the Shanghai aunt carried a large box of green rice cakes, Sister Chen from Guangzhou brought waxed sausage, and Sister Wang from Northeast China boiled tea eggs. They had established a "Study-Abroad Accompanying Mothers Mutual Aid Group" since last year. If someone couldn't find a safe place to worship, the group would share information; if someone wanted to send things back to China, there were purchasing channels in the group. Sister Li also discussed with the Chinatown owner and customized "Sakura Limited Edition Joss Paper" for the mothers in the group, each stack attached with a "Worship Tips" note that read: "Use in quiet areas of the park, bring a fireproof mat."
"My daughter asked me recently why I always go to the park during cherry blossom season," Sister Li lit the joss paper, and the flame illuminated the faces of the mothers around her. "I told her the cherry blossoms are beautiful and I'm having a picnic with friends." Sister Chen smiled and handed her a cup of hot tea: "My son asked me too. I told him it's our Chinese 'cherry blossom festival custom' to pray for spring." The wind picked up again, and cherry petals fell on the joss paper one after another. From a distance, her daughter's voice came through the phone: "Mom, I'm out of school! I brought matcha-flavored wagashi for you!"
Sister Li answered the call, her voice soft: "Great, Mom is waiting for you in the park. The cherry blossoms are gorgeous." After hanging up, she whispered to the flame: "Honey, look, we're doing well in Tokyo. We have so many friends, and our daughter is sensible. Did you receive this cherry blossom joss paper? Next time, I'll bring you the matcha wagashi our daughter bought." The aunts beside her also chanted softly—some wished their husbands good food and drink in the afterlife, some told about their children's improved grades. Their voices mixed with the fragrance of cherry blossoms, drifting far away.
As the sun set, the mothers packed up their things and made an appointment to cook hometown dishes for their children together next week. Sister Li put the remaining cherry blossom joss paper into her bag, which also contained a card signed by all the mothers in the group: "It's hard alone, but warm together." She looked up at the cherry blossoms all over the sky and suddenly felt that this dual nostalgia was not so unbearable anymore—her longing for her husband was hidden in the cherry blossom joss paper, and her loneliness in a foreign land was resolved by the warmth of mutual aid. It turned out that in the spring of Tokyo, she could also find the feeling of home.
Interactive Topic: What "secret rituals" have you used to express longing abroad? Burning paper, writing letters, or talking to a tree? Share below
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