So, I’m up to 350 cranes.
If an alien race were to examine a single human’s activities during their lifetime, they’d probably have the damnest time trying to figure out why they do certain things.
I feel this way about folding cranes. People must think I’m crazy or something. I’ve talked about this before, but I feel like writing about it again. If someone were to ask me why I fold cranes, I couldn’t give a good answer. Some things in life are just done for no clear reason or thought as to why it’s being done.
I know what the cranes mean to me. They mean a lot of things. They mean things that I long for, and they mean things that I wish to forget. And it’s not just the cranes themselves, but the dedication and resolve it takes in folding them all. The development of the skill to a point where you can fold them with your eyes closed, gracefully, as if you were an entity whose sole existence was only for folding these cranes.
They are love, sadness, anger, resolve; stoic, but deranged. They rise from sickness, and yet are bringers of healing. Perhaps above all though, if I were to commit a crime such as to generalize about their meaning to me, they wipe away my tears and keep me moving forward to other, new days. And it’s not just for me. It’s for all those who need something strong to believe in.
