Eighty Years After Hiroshima: Paper Cranes, Peace, Grief, and Hope
Last week, I realised that this month marks 80 years since the bombing of Hiroshima — one of the darkest chapters in human history.
Earlier this year, I had the chance to visit Hiroshima for the first time. I felt that, as a person, it was my duty to go. I didn’t live through it, but I wanted to see, to learn, and to understand more about what happened. Especially now, in a time when the world feels more fragile than ever.
Like most of my trips in Japan, I didn’t know exactly what to expect. My knowledge of Hiroshima was limited to what I’d read or seen in films. What I found there was something I could never have prepared for.
The day was grey, rainy, and heavy. It matched the mood. We walked along the river towards the Atomic Bomb Dome, passing monuments that each told a different part of the story.
But the one that stayed with me the most was the Children’s Peace Monument, inspired by Sadako Sasaki and her story of folding a thousand paper cranes. Standing there, surrounded by thousands of colourful cranes left by people from all over the world, was deeply moving. It reminded me that even in the face of unimaginable loss, hope can still take shape.
Although I had planned to take photos, I quickly realised it was more important to be present. It was a day to listen, to read, to feel. We stopped often, reading plaques and stories that made us cry, but also made us reflect on who we are as humans — how fragile we are, yet how capable we are of compassion and of working together towards something better.
It was a short visit, but it left a big mark on me. Hiroshima is a place of grief, yes, but also of resilience and a strong call for peace. I left carrying both the sadness of its past and the hope it still inspires.
By the time we left, I carried with me some photos from that day — not just to remember what we saw, but to hold on to the grief and sorrow, and also to the strength that lives within us.
And the hope that something like this will never happen again.
I hope you can feel, in these photos, the emotions we experienced that day.
