Mittwoch, 1. Februar 2012

Ein Gedicht aus Fukushima

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.


  1. Das hinterlässt so ein ganz komisches gefühl in meiner magengegend...

  2. Genau diese Widersprüchlichkeit der Gefühle habe ich in Fukushima angetroffen.
    In 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.