Chernobyl was a power plant, a settlement.
Auschwitz was a camp.
9/11 was a date.
But Hiroshima was, and is again, a city of 1.1 million—a place, a time, a happening, a scene, a setting, a graveyard, and now, a destination.

 

You can’t get into Chernobyl now without a guide.
Auschwitz a ticket.
9/11 one out of 365.
But Hiroshima is a place where people start businesses, fall in love, shop, go to eat oysters, watch a baseball game.

I suppose it’s its existence as a place that made this the darkest.

Chernobyl we gawk and wonder.
Auschwitz we gasp and cry.
9/11 we’re all quiet for a minute and hug a fireman.
But Hiroshima is still going.
And no one is quite sure how to act. 
It could go on for a thousand years, and it’ll still carry with it the weight of its name.

 

Your ferry ticket says Hiroshima.
The port says “Welcome to Hiroshima.”
Your delicious ramen was Hiroshima Ramen.
And any postcards mailed are from Hiroshima.

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I suppose it was the duality of daily life and devastation that made me unable to ever decide on an emotion.

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It’s dark—probably no surprise there.
But there’s no exit to check your nausea. 
You walk around, sleep, eat, drink and explore Hiroshima.
The word follows you around everywhere.
No bookend to those feelings.