A Language of Togetherness: Issue #2

Oubaitori (桜梅桃李): on growing and blooming in one's own time

Welcome to the second issue of this series, A language of togetherness, where we’ll be exploring care, connection and community — and how they might help to nurture a regenerative sense of home and belonging in our turbulent times.

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PC: Liana S (via Unsplash)

Communities can dance between experiences of independence and interdependence.

We all need a space to tenderly tell our stories of shared lived experiences, while also needing to be seen for our uniqueness.

This nuanced balance between what is shared identity and what is different in communal space is something I’ve been considering through the lens of the Japanese concept of oubaitori —

‘Oubaitori is written as « 桜梅桃李 » in Japanese. Each individual character represents a different kind of blossom: cherry, apricot, peach and plum.

While these four different blossoms look very similar at first glance, they all bloom differently and have their own distinct shapes and smells. Yet despite their differences, each and every blossom is proud and beautiful in its own way.

The concept of oubaitori takes this idea and applies it to people. Just as blossoms bloom differently, people grow and develop in different ways too. Everyone is different, and should be proud of what makes them unique.

The meaning of oubaitori is that, instead of comparing ourselves to other people, we should be focusing on our own growth, and valuing what makes us special.’ (via Travel with Languages).

When I think about the people who have deeply seen me for who I am, in my full uniqueness, their faces immediately flash into my mind like an immersive dream. It is a deep love to see and appreciate someone for what makes them unique, particularly when that character is very different from your own.

Experiencing this feeling in collective spaces, however, can sometimes be a challenge. This is particularly the case for those of us who have complex, intersectional identities that are hard to communicate to people we meet for the first time or have spent little time with. These barriers are also exacerbated by societal pressures to conform to particular externalities and ways of being (such as changing one’s accent, dressing a particular way to fit in, and so on). Systemically, we are also pressured to have it all figured out to be considered “valuable” and “earn” social regard.

Reflecting on oubaitori, our growth and flourishing as humans are not linear. Much like non-human beings, our growth is cyclical and seasonal. Like trees and fungi, we must also rest and decompose.

Neoliberal capitalism, on the other hand, greedily expects our growth to be linear and exponential. A straight timeline toward increased status, exposure and productivity. As philosopher Byung Chul-Han writes:

‘ [T]oday…[neoliberal capitalism means] communication without community prevails…[Contrastingly,] [w]e can define rituals as symbolic techniques of making oneself at home in the world. They transform being-in-the-world into a being-at-home. They turn the world into a reliable place. They are to time what home is to space: they render time habitable…Antoine de Saint-Exupéry describes rituals as temporal techniques of making oneself at home in the world.’¹

Byung Chul-Han describes how communal rituals are experiences of the divine, and that this experience of the divine ‘commands silence’. This is vital as:

‘The silence gives rise to listening. It is accompanied by a special receptivity, by a deep, contemplative attentiveness.’²

Slowing down, resisting this economic haste, we are better able to notice the blooming features of our friends, loved ones, chosen family and comrades. We notice the intricacies of who they are — what makes them special. By appreciating them in this way, we make them feel more at home in collective space.

I might, for example, notice the unique ways someone I care for shows their affection, which is in a form that might not be considered the ‘norm’. I can only appreciate the richness of their unique way of communicating and connecting with me when I pause and take notice, with space to breathe.

Recognising the importance of oubaitori in communal spaces, we might reflect on the notion of identity as a process of becoming argued by Stuart Hall:

‘Identity is not a set of fixed attributes, the unchanging essence of the inner self, but a constantly shifting process of positioning. We tend to think of identity as taking us back to our roots, the part of us which remains essentially the same across time. In fact, identity is always a never-completed process of becoming — a process of shifting identifications, rather than a singular, complete, finished state of being.’³

Blooming in community spaces could look like a collective process or practice — making a dish together, or creating a collective art piece. When that practice of becoming is repeated, it is a sacred ritual. Our existing systems only want to see value in the finished product or outcome, rather than the communal, agentic process of collective becoming itself.

Considering both Hall and Han’s ideas, contemplative rest allows us to bloom in solitude, while collective practice allows us to bloom in community.

Community, then, is the interweaving of what makes you unique and what is shared between us. It is this blended tapestry of being that is life-sustaining.

Prompt: What if you were to imagine your inner self as a plant or tree — what would that look like in bloom? What conditions do you need to bloom in solitude and around others? Who has noticed you in bloom? What about them gave them the capacity to do so?

1. Byung Chul-Han, The Disappearance of Rituals.

2. Ibid.

3. Stuart Hall, Familiar Stranger: A Life Between Two Islands, Duke University Press, 2017, p.16.