Marika Yoshida hat in einem Gedicht ihre komplizierten Gefühle zu Papier gebracht. Ich mag es, da es sich so wohltuend von der oft holzschnittartigen Berichterstattung abhebt.
My living in
Fukushima
To live in Fukushima, to me
It means, no more
opening the window and taking a deep breath every morning
It
means, no more drying our laundry outside
It means, to discard
the vegetables grown in our garden
It means, to feel a pang at
the sight of my daughter leaving the house with a mask and a
dosemeter on, without even being told
It means, not to be able
to touch this whitest snow
It means, to get slightly irritated
sometimes when I hear the “Fight on, Fukushima” slogan
It
means, to notice that I became to breathe shallowly
It means,
to tell someone that I live in Fukushima and not be able to help
adding “but our area’s radiation is still low…”
It
means, to feel that now exist 福島 (Fukushima
in Chinese characters) and FUKUSHIMA
It means, to get angry
when someone tells us to “stay” feeling “What do you think of
our lives?,” and to get angry when someone tells us to “flee”
feeling “Don’t say it so easily! It’s not that simple!”
It
means, to worry if my 6-year-old girl can get married in the
future
It means, to feel like abandoning my responsibilities
for having chosen to live in Fukushima
It means, to renew a
deep understanding in my gut every morning that our daily lives stand
on the thin-ice-like “safety,” which is kept on the sacrifices
and efforts of others.
It means, to think every night that I
might have to leave this house tomorrow and go far away
It
means, to still pray every night that we could live in this house
tomorrow
First and foremost, I pray for the health and
happiness of my daughter
I cannot forget that black smoke
I
want someone to understand that we still live happily more or less,
nonetheless
I get furious, everyday
I pray, everyday
I
have no intention to represent Fukushima. This is what to live in
Fukushima means to me, only to me.
Today is the 10-month
anniversary for Fukushima.
Das hinterlässt so ein ganz komisches gefühl in meiner magengegend...
AntwortenLöschenGenau diese Widersprüchlichkeit der Gefühle habe ich in Fukushima angetroffen.
AntwortenLöschenIn Minami-Soma sind ein Drittel der Leute noch nicht zurückgekehrt. Die anderen richten sich im Leben mit der Strahlung ein.
Es ist ja auch nicht so, dass sie in Minami-Soma oder anderen Regionen Tschernobyl-Werte erreichen würde. Als ich in Minami-Soma war, wurden am Rathaus 0,3 Mikrosievert pro Stunde gemessen. Wenn ich recht im Bilde bin, das Vier- bis Fünffache des Vorkrisenwerts.