Her Sakura Hues

When I met her eyes, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was the same eyes that had followed us—soft and unassuming—through the ordinary hums of campus life. The rustling garbage bags in empty classrooms, surgical masks that couldn’t cover the crinkles on their eyes. 

“How long have you worked here?”

Zhang Ayi

“10 years.” Zhang Ayi replied without flinching. 8 hours every day, 10 years of working in Pao, to support her household after retirement from a white-collar job. The busy nature of work had initially daunted her; nevertheless, as time went by, she became much more comfortable with handling her duties, ranging from polling, communication, and cleaning as the forewoman of ayis. “My life’s always busy,” she smiled as she said, “Even after I get back home every day, you know, I like to shop for cooking ingredients, take a stroll, and dance. What do you call them?  Old people’s activities.”

When asked what her memorable experience here at Pao is, I expected her to recall, perhaps, a polite student who once thanked her. Instead, she answered without hesitation: “Your graduation ceremonies. Watching every student stand on the stage, I know how hardworking they’ve been, and I’m happy for them.”

“Then you must have seen many cycles of graduation ceremonies?”

“ Yes,” she chuckled, “I see you students like I see my own children... I know you’re worth it.”

“Then have you gotten the opportunity to know one particular student very well?”

“No,” she shook her head, “Direct contact with students is against the rules. There must be a degree of separation, but you know, it’s good enough that we can still see you from afar. We’re not the main characters here,” she said. “Sometimes we wave. Sometimes, students wave back. That’s plenty.”

“What are some adjectives you would use to describe the school?”

She tilted her head, pondering. “Cozy, harmonious, but also… buzzing. The air is always buzzing with youthfulness.” A wistful smile. “When I was young, I was just like you. Running around, laughing carelessly—maybe even more mischievous!”

We shared a smile. For a moment, I saw her not as an ayi, but as a rebellious girl chasing her dreams, sparks of sunlight glistening from her long dark hair as she dashed across the ever-vibrant fields in spring. 

“What is your favorite corner of the campus? The soccer fields? The tracks?”

“Where the flowers grow,” she replied with longing in her eyes. “The Sakura—have you seen them? Like pink clouds hovering above the walkways? Spring days are beautiful. I suppose that’s what you like when you get old, flowers and plants.” The anxiety of aging that haunts so many has been gently swept away from her smiling face, leaving her with the calmness and composure of one who had always known the world and learned to love it.

Impressed by her positivity, I hoped we could find a way to make her work easier. “Have you met any challenges during your work experiences here? As students, how might we make your daily cleanings less difficult?”

“No, no!” she insisted, “You’re all always very polite.”

I persisted. “Are there any difficulties you had at all? When cleaning dorms?”

She pondered for a moment, as though unsure of what to say. “Perhaps the only thing—if you will—is to be more mindful about where you place your things on the desks and double-check when you pack. You know the pains of losing things, and we never mean to throw anything away intentionally. Once, a tooth braces was crumpled in paper that we thought was trash, and we threw it away…Now we pick each paper apart, and what we throw away are like empty bottles, things we sure you don’t need.” Her tone was honest and assertive.

Despite the difficulties, it was clear she enjoyed the job. “For sure, I’d miss being here already. My workmates, you students. These are the memories I’ll forever remember and cherish.”

Separation was the nature of her job. Not just between separating what is trash and what isn’t, but between her world and ours too. Did she ever feel lonely here? Did she ever wish that she could step into the frame instead of observing from faraway?

As I walked away, I turned back once, imagining her under the Sakura tree she loved so much. I could still recall her eyes, as gentle and soundless as the petals that rained down overnight…