Omeretsu. The town on the top of a green, grassy hill. Where kids play until night, and animals frolic in the streets. The town where the wind blows from north to east, carrying the vanilla scent all through the town. The same wind boosted the beat of the drums throughout the entire town, creating mini earthquakes all around. Where kids danced all night and sang at the festivals every Sunday. Here there is only joy, carried by the spirit of the people. The lights of the town outshined the moon, and the sounds of the cheering were louder than the sounds of construction in the city. Omeretsu, the town of joy.

“Hush,” friends said, the words bouncing off the walls and hitting me in the heart. “We move on from this moment; leave the past behind and move forward.” So I learned to move forward. 

“Hush, the world doesn’t revolve around you.” And so I learned to think about others.

“Hush, jealousy is a sin.” So I learned to be grateful for what I had. 

I had reached true happiness. It was the town of joy, after all. The place with no lies. The place where the wind carried the sakura flowers all throughout the town. Things touched by the flowers were always correct. During quizzes, if they ever saw a flower, we would stop and try again. If there were street games tricking you to lose the money, you’d always win at the sight of a flower. Whether it was a magic trick, a trial, a debate, or an argument, the sakura flowers secluded them. Those who were touched were raised on a podium to be praised by everyone passing by, blown bubbles at, given a party, and deemed sacred. Those picked were never wrong.  And although nearly everyone was picked by the flowers of truth, I never was. 

“The happiness of everybody depends on the happiness of everyone’s self,” guardians told me. 

In the town of joy, I was born. It’s the place I was raised, the place where my memories were created, where I learned to live, where I learned to be happy, where I learned to tell the truth, the only place I know.  As our personalities get shaped, it starts to shine. It begins to reflect the personalities of everyone who is a part of me. Subsequently, I shine, contributing to the community as well. 

“Stay around good people,” they say. “They are what you will become.”  I start to hang with nice people; they are who I want to become. 

As our time comes in Omeretsu, we get faced with a proposition. To stay or to leave. Some stay, to preserve the memories, nostalgia, fear of letting go. Some leave, ready to move on.       

People still do decide to leave the town of joy. The few who don’t are called rejects, scared, wastes of space. The few who stay get pushed, shoved, punched in front of the gates of the town. As the ground starts to dye red, those who decide to leave turn around and walk out the gate. 

Those who leave take part in the dyeing of the deep marble grounds before leaving. Everybody enjoys it. Everybody is excited to leave a mark on the marble that only gets washed every one year. Their choices being the biggest contribution. They get raised on podiums, blown bubbles at, partied with, even guardians praising their doings. As they turn their backs on the ones who stay, they let out a “Hush,” then stomp out of the gates.

As I sat on my deathbed, I opened my eyes to see the group of people I once called family. The completely healthy, tall men nearly give the spiderwebs on the ceiling a brush with their hair. Some of them still wore the same shoes from the dyeing. Some were completely different. As a gust of air blew through my window, shaking the lantern extended on the wall, with it came a flutter of pink flowers fresh from the tree. Each flower fell on the people around me, skipping only me. 

Flowers of truth never lie, those who get kissed are always correct.

 “Hush,” they said, as they turned their backs to leave me on my bed; no regrets stopping them. Leaving me to deal with the nostalgia I once wished to never escape.