Heading to Hiroshima

Doreen Villanueva
Aug 9, 2017 · 10 min read

A gentle wind signaled the arrival of the Sakura Shinkansen. The 17-minute train stop on Platform Number 22 of the Shin-Osaka Station has begun. Five minutes for the commuters’ zombie-like disembarkation, seven minutes for the maintenance men to systematically clean the train, and the last five minutes for the excited passengers to board and settle down.

I tightly grasped my seafood bento, occasionally sniffing the box, trying to distinguish the aroma of the salmon from the shrimp. They say a Shinkansen ride is not complete without a Japanese lunch box. I faintly pranced in place, trying to disguise my eagerness to board. That 12-minute wait was just too long, the bullet train was already in front of me, I almost heard its shiny exterior beckoned me with a squeaky mouse-like voice, “come in, come in”.

The soft whish of the doors was the signal for the passengers to finally board. I raced my sister to the window seat, and won, much to her dismay. I looked around, the train car was filled with Japanese nationals, each one either fixing their luggage, removing their coats, or settling down in their seats. I collapsed the tray table and carefully arranged my green tea latte and my bento box. It doesn’t get any more Japanese than this, I thought to myself.

A whistle from the platform officer followed by a series of loud beeps on the door was the song of departure. I was about to take a sip from my drink when the train started to steadily accelerate. My 2-hour Shinkansen journey has begun and soon I would be in Hiroshima — where the atomic bomb was dropped 72 years ago.

I have read so much about the atomic bomb. It has been one of my fascinations as a teenager and possibly one of the main reasons why I studied physics, aside from research on the possibility of time traveling. The Second World War was fueled by aggression and greed but it was science that stopped it from further escalating.

Albert Einstein sent a letter to then US President Franklin Roosevelt, persuading the US to research on the construction of an atomic bomb out of fear that Germans had already begun their research of the splitting of the uranium atom. That letter was sent in 1939, six years later one of the two atomic bombs created by the Manhattan Project would be used in Hiroshima — the place where I’m headed.

The view from the window seat slowly shifted from the urban to rural. Steadily accelerating as the pace quickened until it averaged at about 320 km/h. Around 20 minutes into the journey, my excitement turned into motion sickness. To get rid of it, I concentrated on the sight of bare branches of cherry blossom trees that passed by. I tried my best to imagine the landscape if the Sakura trees were in full bloom but what was real were the red, brown, and gold leaves that adorned the trees, creating one full picture of a perfect autumn morning.

The promise of spring is different from the stillness of autumn, I thought to myself.

The train bound for Kagoshima-Chuo would only stop for 5 minutes at Hiroshima Station. I eagerly disembarked from the train and made my way into the platform. The first step on stable ground gave me a slight feeling of lightheadedness, but it was the awaited solace from the rapidness of the train. It was 8 a.m. — it was also around that time that the atomic bomb was dropped at that very place.

An American B-29 Bomber, Enola Gay, was hovering around the city of Hiroshima. It was a serene day, children innocently playing in the fields, factory workers forming an assembly in the square, and birds flying around the horizon. The river delta was clearly visible from 1900 feet above the ground. From the time Little Boy was dropped, it took 45 seconds to detonate, it is unsettling to think that it takes less than a minute to destroy an entire city. The mechanism triggered the firing of a uranium bullet into its target that started a nuclear chain reaction, solid matter began to come apart and released 15 kilotons of nuclear energy. The explosion flattened everything within a mile radius, except for the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall — where I stood 72 years later.

I alighted from the loop bus facing the Peace Boulevard and observed the street car as it traced along the electric railway. It was quite astounding to see how a railway juxtaposed motor vehicles on the road. There was no need for fences — their innate discipline was an enough barricade for accidents.

I turned my back on the street and saw the tip of the skeletal dome peeking through the trees. The steel hemisphere was the crown of the building, it bore the regal stature of a forceful tower, unyielding to its assailants. I approached the building with fright. It was not of the apparitions of the dead but of the desolation of the survivors. The trees receded from view while the building introduced itself, one broken windowpane at a time. Rectangular shrubs fenced the perimeter of the building, going beyond it would take me inside the remnants of a once majestic building. I imagine myself going over the fence and walking along the corridors. I transport myself to the morning of August 6, 1945, the exhibition hall bustling with activity, only to be halted by a blinding light. Then came the unimaginable inferno that disintegrated the surrounding town.

I was back to the peaceful present. I saw a group of Caucasian tourists gathered around a Japanese tour guide. I joined in on the crowd, although I was sticking like a sore thumb amongst their light complexion and towering height, I listened as if I was part of their group. I felt like I was stealing information, but it wasn’t a private conversation, I was a part of that history too.

“The atomic bomb went off at 600 feet above this very dome.” the man said to his audience.

This made me wonder, how did the structure survive if all the buildings at a mile radius were incinerated? Could the firepower of the atomic bomb be similar to that of an eye of the storm, its massive power unparalleled but only to be devoid at the center? Or is it the structure of the building itself, probably because of the European architect employed technology that was ahead of its time? I believe it to be the latter, the surrounding architecture of the city was still from 19th century Japanese design. Either way, the ruins of the building tell a stifling story, one that is of the first and only time that nuclear weapons was unleashed on foreign territory. It preaches a truth that resonates through all nations to this very day — that it is not nations that lose in nuclear warfare, it is the whole of humanity.

The whole of humanity? What a forbidding statement! But I believe in that truth. There are two things that happen when an atomic bomb is dropped. First is the towering inferno and second is the ionizing radiation. Radiation is a silent killer. The effects would be in the health of the people, cancer, mutations, and other diseases. Its like dropping a “sickness” bomb and its effects are stochastic, meaning people will never know what will happen to them, unless it already happened to them. So, imagine if the countries with nuclear weapons would be at war, detonating one atomic bomb after the other. It would end with the Earth as a graveyard — a radioactive graveyard.

After walking along the tour I invited myself into, I distracted myself by following a man slowly cycling along the riverbanks. The pace of his pedaling was almost the same as my gait. We traversed the riverbanks together, he stopped beside an elderly man who was feeding pigeons. I was impolitely staring at him, but the man responded with a smile.

“Ohayōgozaimasu!” the elderly man greeted me.

I bowed and said “Good morning!” Years of watching anime did not help me greet him in Nihongo.

I stood beside him for but a fleeting moment. The crow’s feet that bordered his outer eyes made me think about his bygone days. There, in front of me, was a man at the sunset of his life. I wondered what his childhood must’ve been like. Was he a little boy when Little Boy did make its devastating drop to the city? How many loved ones did he lose on that faithful day? There was an estimate of 300,000 people who died in Hiroshima, he was bound to know someone who died there. Was his childhood ruined by the war? Has he fully recovered? Its hard to answer these questions and I couldn’t speak Japanese, so I imagine what it was like. It is difficult to imagine, since I have never experience the troubling times of war.

I was overthinking again. I tried to come back to the tranquil morning and left those questions behind, but the impression of the war imprinted upon every brick my shoes touched. I followed the river downstream, I came upon a bridge. An endless succession of elementary school students sporting Japanese school uniforms and yellow hats were gleefully following their teacher in the front of the queue.

“Kawaaaaiiiii!” I said, in my chirpiest possible voice, as I waved at them. There were some who waved back, a few who mimicked my voice, but most of them totally ignored me.

I continued crossing the Motoyasu-bashi Bridge while mentally generating my own census of the stream of children, I had lost count at about a half-minute of trying. I took one last glance at the Genbaku (Atomic Bomb) Dome. It seemed humbler from the vista of the bridge, but it didn’t lose its melancholic appeal, it may even have increased it.

At the other side of the bridge is the Peace Memorial Park. I noticed its distinct tranquility from the bustling downtown, just about a kilometer away. I walked to the right side of the Tourist Information Center. The Vendo machines in Japan continually amaze me. I chose one small PET bottle of grape-flavored Fanta, a drink that was discontinued in my country, and stood at the curb outside.

I noticed a small flickering flame at a distance and decided to proceed towards it. It was the Flame of Peace that has been burning since 1964. It was between a pedestal that looked like two hands pressed together at the wrist while the palms point upward. It reminded me of my childhood trip to the Arlington National Cemetery in Washington. It was there that I first saw an eternal flame that was lit for the late American president, John F. Kennedy. I later learned that the two flames were installed only a year apart. But the one in Hiroshima is more meaningful for me. I saw an inscription that read:

“Let’s keep burning the fire until nuclear weapon is eliminated from the entire earth.”

A few steps from that place is the Cenotaph for the A-Bomb victims. It consists of an arch and a chest beneath it. Inside the chest lists 297,684 names of the victims. It was designed to lineup directly with the Genbaku Dome, the Children’s Monument, and the War Memorial, the view created a full picture of peace that rose like a phoenix from the ashes of war.

I went back to the A-Bomb Dome and while waiting for the loop bus to take me to the back to the train station, I pondered on what I have seen.

I had this image in my mind of Hiroshima. I thought it would be dark and gloomy. It was the opposite; my visit was serene and delightful. But it made me think of the war. The war was not centered on the Atomic Bombing in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but it played a crucial role in the cessation of the battles, for no nation wanted any of their city to be bombed like what happened to those two cities. It led me to think about what triggered the Americans to use the massive weapon. Could it be the bombing of Pearl Harbor? But that was an attack on a naval base while Hiroshima is a residential and industrial area. Could it be because of the Japanese Empire’s aggression in China, Korea, and the Philippines? My heart shudders as I read first hand accounts of the massacres in Manila during the war, it would make anyone despise the Japanese during their occupation in the country. Who could forget the atrocities during the Bataan Death March? But is it really worth the lives of two hundred thousand innocent people in Hiroshima? I continued to wonder.

But looking at the Peace Memorial in Hiroshima did not focus on the victimization of the residents, the view of history is truly changing. The Japanese people admit their faults as history remembers the events that led to the bombing. Both nations have their participation in the Hiroshima’s devastation — the epilogue of which is the aversion to nuclear warfare, a supposed path to everlasting peace.

The loop bus finally arrived and I went back to the Hiroshima Train Station. As I boarded the Shinkansen back to Osaka, the passage inscribed on the Cenotaph continued to resonate in my mind:

Let all souls here rest in peace, for we shall not repeat the evil.”

And may it never will.

Doreen Villanueva

LEGO * Travel * Baking * Science * Literature

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade