An Unforgettable Gift
I lived in Kyoto when I was a university student. I was hopeless with women, but otherwise, I lived a typical dissolute student life, taking five years to graduate. I managed to find a job back in my hometown.
It was some time after I started working, when I began to be crushed by reality.
I received a package from the landlord of the apartment where I had lived in Kyoto. Wondering what it could be, I opened it to find a teacup with a picture of Kiyomizu-dera Temple on it, along with a short note. I assume it was something they kindly gave as a memento to all the students who had boarded at their apartment.
I wasn't particularly close to the landlord, so at first, I just thought, 'Oh, I see.' But since it was a teacup, it naturally blended into my daily life. Every now and then, my eyes would fall on that cup, and I would remember, 'Ah, I really did live in Kyoto.' Every time I used that cup, I would recall various fun memories from my student days.
As time passed after receiving the cup, I realized its true value. It was a gift that seemed to seal away a person's memories, just like this cup did. A gift that acts like a bridge connecting reality and memories. I realized that this is what kind of gift it was. As time went by, and as those memories became more idealized, I began to feel that this teacup was a truly wonderful gift.
Since then, I have made it a habit to give teacups as farewell gifts to people. For those moving out of the prefecture, I have even given teacups featuring famous scenery from that area. When I was in Numazu, I sometimes struggled to find them because there weren't many teacups with unique local scenes.
Meanwhile, the person at work who had taken the best care of me was retiring. I wanted to give them a gift they would be happy with, and I decided that a teacup was the perfect choice.
However, since it was a retirement gift, a cup with a picture of a landscape wouldn't quite do. After some trial and error, I thought pottery might be good. After researching various options, I decided on Bizen ware, thinking that the fact it is made to be durable enough not to break even if thrown felt like something that suited that person.
I searched everywhere. I even went to the antique markets sometimes held at Mishima Taisha Shrine. I found some nice Bizen ware, but the person who made it was the one selling it, and they seemed like someone I wouldn't get along with. Once that happened, the Bizen ware started to look like an unpleasant piece of pottery to me. The work itself wasn't to blame, but I learned then that a piece of art is influenced by who created it.
Setting that story aside, after searching around, I found one piece of Bizen ware that was strangely cool, even though it was by an unknown artist. I gave it to the person who had taken care of me. I don't know if they use it in their daily life, but if that Bizen ware has blended into their routine and they occasionally remember me, thinking, 'Ah, there was a guy like that,' I would be happy.