Hito

"Hito" means "person" in Japanese and its Kanji character consists of two perpendicular brush strokes. It is one of the simplest of the roughly 2,500 Kanji characters, but as with many things in the Japanese culture, the seemingly simplest of things is the most complicated.

I've known this character since childhood but now, at 30 years old, it has an intensely deeper meaning to me.

All Kanji characters are drawn to look like whatever their meaning is. I always saw the "hito" character as a person walking in stride. Recently, my mother described the character to me in a new light -- as that of one person (the longer brush stroke) being held up by another (the shorter brush stroke).

I see this and furthermore, I understand this.

She further explained that the Japanese believe the character was shaped in this way to symbolize how every person must rely on another at some point in their life in order to become a stronger, fuller person. Conversely, it becomes that person's obligation to one day help another in need. And so the gift becomes passed along from person to person and from generation to generation.

There have been times in my life when I could hardly hold up the weight of my own body or my own existence. But, I have had angels in my life who have lifted me up and lent their strength so that I could re-find my own.

In August 2009, at about an hour from the summit of Mt. Fuji, I found myself nauseous, sweat-drenched (but freezing) and cursing myself for attempting to speed-solo-climb the pristine, but unforgiving brutal volcano. With the remedy I needed for my altitude sickness -- oxygen and rest -- not readily available at roughly 11,000 feet, I had little option but to dig deep inside myself for inspiration to take one step more. It was like digging into a cloud. I truly did not think I could go on. And so, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, I folded down onto the volcanic red soil, counted boot strings, said "hello" to the massive clouds below (thinking I would be there for awhile) and waited for some miraculous hand to lift me. Little did I know there would be no miraculous hand, but a sweet voice. A young female climber crouched down, looked me square in the tired eyes and said in Japanese, "We're almost there." ("Mo sukoshi yo.") She urged me up and my exhausted body and oxygen-deprived mind followed suit with my soul. I climbed with her and her companions to the summit. During the remainder of the climb, she would periodically look back down at me when I was struggling and call out -- "Sara, we're almost there." ("Sara-chan, mo sukoshi yo.") And I followed her voice which not so much gave me strength, but guided me to tap into my own.

In June 2010, I fell very ill. My body was devastated and my will had grown so empty that my brown eyes had turned dead and black. I was ready to give up, but even so, my mother would not let me do so without a clean body. Despite my tearless crying eyes which pleaded not to move me, she urged me out of bed and to the shower. I was so weak that I had to lean almost my entire body weight against her 4 ft. 10, 95 pound, 63 year old body in order to walk up a flight of stairs to get to the bathroom. My mother would then sit outside the shower -- scared that my trembling, weak body would give way and I'd fall or faint or hit my head or worse. And if I did, she would be there to lift and hold me up until my body was clean. It was then that it dawned on me that she will always be there until her or my dying day (whichever should come first) to hold me up. And it was then that I promised myself that I will always be there to hold her up should she need.

Today, each day, I grow stronger in mind, body and spirit. I have the chance to grow stronger because others have held me up in every possible way -- whether for 30 minutes or 30 years. I grow stronger so one day, I can help others and pass along the gift. I grow stronger so I can be the second brush stroke in the character "hito."