“I will never forget the day…” These were the words murmured out of Junichi Kikuchi’s mouth on one summer night in 2014 when we spent the evening watching late-night shows while going through documents on the 2011 tsunami. Junichi was a resident and a tatami shop owner in Rikuzentakata at the time of the disaster. He and his family rushed to the higher ground when the tsunami alert sounded. All could escape the monster wave that devoured the entire city center. But his son, Yuuki, received a duty call from the Firefighting Corp and had to rush to the coast for a mission. Two days later. Yuuki’s body was found kilometers away from where he was supposed to be… I first visited Rikuzentakata, Japan, a town roughly 500 km north of Tokyo in 2013 to focus on the recovery of the 2011 Great East Japan Earthquake and Tsunami. Once I arrived, I was introduced to Ugoku-Tanabata, a traditional festival of the town. This colorful festival involving dozens of participants maneuvering gigantic floats has been a pride of the communities for hundreds of years. It is also an event that coincided with the start of the O-Bon holiday, a period when families pay tribute to those who passed away. Added to the significance, it was one of the first major events held in the aftermath of the tsunami in 2011, nearly six months after the disaster had brought forth the destruction. The historical and emotional factors gave the festival a powerful purpose for locals to reboot, however difficult it was. I encountered Junichi and his family at the festival. Still, I only had an opportunity to learn more about them at the end of my first trip when I suddenly took an interest in the making of the tatami mat. Eventually, I visited his shop. Through an interpreter, he briefly told me about the process of making a tatami, then went on to the scope of the destruction done by the disaster, and how the family survived the ordeal after. It was when I learned about Junichi’s son Yuuki. The following year when I returned, he provided a more detailed account of his darkest days in 2011. I always wondered what drew me back to Rikuzentakata. Perhaps it was the energy of the Tanabata festival, or perhaps there was a strange connection with the Kikuchi family, On the following trip in 2013, I began to return to the town every summer, dedicating a portion of my time to the preparation of the festival, while watching the town underwent a major transformation. I watched Junichi Kikuchi and his family build a new life while enduring the pain of losing their home and loved ones in the decade-long journey and was humbled by the opportunity to witness the joy of his grandchildren coming into this world. But the scar of the disaster remains. Perhaps it is still hidden among every survivor of the 2011 tsunami. During my journey, I discovered a small but cozy cottage deep in the forest of Rikuzentakata. This quiet cottage preserved letters written by nameless survivors to their loved ones lost in the disaster. Their powerful words reflect a sorrow beneath the calm, peaceful town and its residents. They yearned for their loved ones in heaven while feeling powerless about the shifting landscape under the name of reconstruction. Festival, the Kikuchi family, and letters. While they may not necessarily have a relation to each other, they are intertwined with a common thread: Memories. Memories of a traumatic past and the sorrow of loved ones lost. Memories of lives shaken by the apocalyptic event followed by building an uncertain future survivors learn to adapt reluctantly. These collections of memories, while fragmented, formed the basis of a powerful narrative of emotion hidden beneath the surface. Perhaps, it became part of my memories as well, of the decade-long relationship I have woven with the locals on this mystical coast.