On Starlit Winds

The girl crossed the courtyard garden on a familiar path, her heart beating in her chest. How often had she walked between the ancient cherry blossom tree and calm koi pond on the way to her father’s room? How often had she taken this path with notebook held close to her chest, hoping that he would finally understand?

She kept her head low because she couldn’t bear the shame of looking at the full moon and glittering tapestry of stars, once her most wonderful muses. The answer was that years had passed, many moons had risen and set in the night sky, and tonight was no different.

Her brother walked alongside her in his well-fitted business suit, and he looked just as nervous as she did. He glanced at the notebook hugged to her chest and said, “Are you sure that bringing that is such a good idea?”

Her response was to clutch it tighter, her knuckles burning white.

He sighed, “I wish I could say I was optimistic. Father still doesn’t like that hobby of yours.”

“I know, but…” she muttered.

He stopped her just before they approached the door to their father’s quarters. Then he smiled gently and shrugged, “I guess I’ll do my best to cheer you on from here. It’s like gran used to say, ‘when the black snake is stalking, the white rabbits need to watch together’.”

The girl looked up and smiled at her brother half-heartedly. She wished that the gesture had done more for her, but the truth was that she wasn’t so optimistic either.

“But,” he said, “this is the last opportunity. The day has come, and if it doesn’t work, you have to be prepared to make a decision.”

Her head dropped again.

He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to her eye-level, “I want you to know that no matter what choice you make, I will support it, one hundred percent. I won’t make the same mistake our father has; I won’t forget that my little sister comes before the politics of our clan.”

She nodded and felt the warmth of his compassion spread through her body, giving her just enough courage to move forward. “Thank you,” she said.

“Alright, go on, then. I’ll just be right out here.”

She smiled at him and then approached the door, her grip on her notebook tightening. She hesitantly knocked on the sliding door. It was quiet, but there wasn’t any noise coming from within her father’s chambers, so the wooden sound was loud anyway. Part of her hoped he wouldn’t respond so she could just put this off another day, maybe another week. In fact, it would be better if she never had to talk to him at all—

“Come in,” the deep, intimidating voice of the head of the clan commanded.

She winced and slid the door open, stepping through gingerly, vertigo rushing through her head and making her momentarily dizzy. The heat from the room’s irori contrasted sharply with the chilled night air behind her. With a hand, which she was desperately trying to keep from shaking, she closed the door behind her and immediately bowed before her father.

Upon her entry, her father did a familiar ritual, looking her up and down, sizing her up. When his eyes landed on the notebook clutched in her arms, he sniffed. She knew this reaction; it was his way of showing disappointment.

“Good to see you,” he said in a tone that was only cordial. “Did you enjoy your birthday?”

No. “Yes, father.”

“Did you like my gift?”

You mean the same kimono you got me three years ago? “Yes, it’s lovely.”

He smiled politely and stepped toward her, “I’m glad to hear it.” In much the same way her brother had done, her father put his hands on her shoulders; it had been a much more comforting gesture coming from the former. “You’re seventeen now, and you know what that means. You have an important choice to make tonight. A decision that every younger sibling in this clan has to make.”

She nodded. “B-before that, could you maybe…?” hands shaking slightly, she held out the notebook. Now was her only chance, her final opportunity to walk down her own path; she had to try.

He did not immediately respond, his gaze burning like hot coals into her eyes for a few breaths.

“P-please, father. I’ve gotten so much better.”

His eyes lowered to the notebook, he sniffed at the sight of it again. He removed his hands from her shoulders and took the book from her. He turned it over in his hands, examining it thoroughly.

“I can tell this thing means a lot to you,” he began, looking at the cover. “The spine is well-weathered from your hands and the cover is beaten-up. It looks half your own age.”

The girl felt her heart get a little lighter. His tone was more sympathetic. Could this be the moment she had been waiting for her whole life?

“When I was younger, I spent all my time at a canvas. Painting was my passion, I wanted to do it more than anything in the world. Seeing this notebook now reminds me of the rickety old easel I used. One of the legs on it never quite sat right but I was always afraid to try and fix it for fear that I would ruin it.” He seemed to be lost in the memory now, reminiscing about days long past, “I used to stain my fingers with paint, night after night.”

The girl’s heart was soaring now, he understood, he really did get it. Maybe he had just been testing her until now, trying to challenge her resolve.

What she did not consider in that moment was that even though her father said all of this—words that were not lies, mind you—there was no evidence of such a hobby in their home nor even his personal quarters. Had the girl remembered this one important fact, she might have been prepared.

“On my own seventeenth birthday,” her father continued, pacing around the room in reminiscence, holding the notebook in his hand, “my mother gave me the greatest gift that I have ever received: a valuable lesson.”

He turned to look at his daughter, and that was when the teenage girl realized something was wrong. His expression wasn’t one of solidarity, it was still disappointment. Then, and only then, did she notice that he was standing in front of the lit irori.

Without giving her the time to react to this revelation, and without having even opened the cover to see its contents, her father threw the notebook into the dancing amber flames.

The girl’s heart broke then, she could almost hear the crack in her mind’s ear. With one simple motion and a careless glance, her father had destroyed something near and dear to her. That notebook was a symbol of hope, a symbol of comfort, and most importantly a symbol that represented her deepest desire to connect with her family and to have them truly understand her.

She watched in abject horror as her beloved notebook, which she had spent countless sleepless nights filling with carefully constructed written words, was turning to ash and crumbling in the fire. She watched as the smoke rose from the sunken pit up to the ceiling, then flowed out of the open window.

Her hopes and her dreams were being carried off by the smoke and into the night sky; whisked away on starlit winds.

“My mother burned that old easel in a bonfire along with all of my paintings,” her father said, following his daughter’s gaze to the open window. “As I watched all of my hard work crumbling and blazing in the raging flames, I had a revelation. Dreams are very beautiful things, but that’s all they are: dreams. Reality doesn’t care what you dream, reality demands you serve your proper purpose. That night, twenty years ago, I was devastated much like you. But I have lived on and prospered from that lesson, and much like me you will come to see that what matters more is following your destiny.”

The girl was too shocked to truly sob like she needed to. She felt the tenderness beneath her chin, tightness of her neck, and the tears running down her cheeks, but she could not bring herself to cry.

“So, now it’s time. You know why you’re here, it’s time to make a choice.”

“I want to be a writer,” the girl replied, the heat of indignation and rebellion finally flaring within her.

“And I wanted to be a painter, but destiny called for me, and now it calls for you. You can be as stubborn as you like, but we’re not going to leave this room until you decide. I’ll even make the choice for you if you won’t do it yourself.”

He stood and stared at her, folding his arms into his robes, making it clear he had the patience to outlast her stubbornness, after all, she had gotten it from him.

From within the landscape of the girl’s inner mind, where once was a vast forest of ideas and imagination, mountains began to form at its outermost edges. They began as swells, then became hills, then eventually towering cliffs with jagged peaks. Her forest, which was once so easily accessible and freely entered, had become a valley with no entrance save to climb overtop the mountains themselves.

The world did not care about her dreams, so she would keep them inside. She would keep them safe. She would never feel pain like this again. Though she would have to choose her destiny here, it would not truly be her choice.

This was her vow.