(I had been to Toronto once some ten years ago, in November. To someone who has lived in Hong Kong for over thirty years, you could imagine what Toronto's weather would appear to him. And, worst of all, when I was almost chilled and frozen, the local weather report on TV said that they hard ever see such a good weather in that time of a year!)
On the way to the hotel, my impression was the place is full of flowering trees. One of the common kinds caught my attention: The branches were covered with pale pink flowers, which seemed gradually giving off its bits and pieces upon the gentle spring breeze. It just looked familiar.
"Hey, man. What's that?" I asked the taxi driver.
"Cherry blossom." His reply was brief.
"So desu ne (そですね)!" I exclaimed.
The taxi driver was silenced. I believed for a moment he thought I was a Japanese. (I was sure he would be even more convinced as soon as he saw my last name.) But, I paid no attention to him.
Rather, I said to myself, "Quite true. This is the season of seeing sakura. It is already a month since the earthquake. What's going on in Japan now?"
Their place may be ruined, but their culture would not.
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