My parents and I arrived in Tokyo around 3:00 p.m. on Sunday afternoon, and the first thing I wanted to do was sleep. I hadn’t slept on the flight and my body was drawn to the hotel bed like a magnet. But my dad dragged me out of bed. “We didn’t spend all this money for you to sleep, Andy. Let’s go explore.” It was a beautiful day – no clouds, a nice cool breeze, and the cherry blossoms were in full bloom. My dad, my mom, my dad’s friend Alex, and I walked through a park with hundreds of cherry blossom trees, their petals ranging from whitish pale pink to dark pink, which contrasted perfectly with the green grass. Lounging on blankets, people were eating picnics and laughing under the trees. It was startlingly clean. There was no litter on the ground. After a long stroll we were all starving. Alex, who lived in Japan, smiled and said he knew a place. We happily followed him, our stomachs growling.

When we got to the restaurant, I almost walked right past it. From the outside, it was an unassuming place that didn’t seem to warrant Alex’s enthusiasm. It was a traditional Japanese restaurant – very small, packed but cozy. As soon as we walked through the curtains, the smell of cigarettes hit me. I coughed and covered my nose, but we were quickly seated at the back in the family section. We feasted on sashimi, rice, squid and oysters, and an egg dish called tamagoyaki. The adults talked about Japan, politics, and work. The topic of my dad living far from home came up. As I stuffed a piece of sashimi into my mouth, my dad said, “Yeah, it’s not too bad. It gets lonely sometimes but I find ways to fill the time. I started playing tennis so I can play with Andy.”

Alex looked at me and asked, “Oh, so you play tennis?”

“Yeah, I play for the school team,” I said, covering my mouth.

“And what school is that?”

“Berkeley High. I’m a sophomore.”

As I picked up another oyster, my mom gently slapped my back and commanded me to sit straight. I did as I was told, and when she looked away I returned back to my perfectly comfortable, somewhat slouched sitting position. We continued to talk and eat into the evening. When they brought the check, my jaw dropped; it was only around $10 dollars per person. As soon as I got back to our hotel, I toppled onto my bed and fell asleep.

My dad moved from Berkeley, California to Saudi Arabia for work when I was in 6th grade. I see him three to four times a year, usually during the summer or on holiday breaks. Our periodic visits have made me appreciate the time I get with him, and I make the most out of that time. Once, when I was in 8th grade and we were in Italy for vacation, my dad and mom said they were going for a walk after dinner. Being lazy, and stuffed with pasta, I told them to have fun, plopped on the bed, and watched YouTube. Looking back, I regret that decision. I should’ve gone with them, no matter how lazy or stuffed I was feeling. I could watch YouTube anytime. I couldn’t say the same thing about walking the streets of Florence with my dad.

Walt Whitman once said, “Happiness, not in another place but this place … not for another hour, but this hour.” When I crawled out of bed the next morning after our feast and looked out the window, I noticed that the cherry blossoms had begun falling off the trees. My dad came and stood beside me.

“Pretty, isn’t it.”

“They only bloom for a couple of weeks, right?”

“Looks like we arrived on the perfect day to see them at their peak.”

I laughed. “Good thing mom took like 100 pictures yesterday.”

“Get dressed,” he said and slapped my back. “We’re going to breakfast!”

Being able to appreciate the moment to its fullest is a cliché, but that doesn’t make it less true. Many people, including myself, are tempted by the easy gratification offered by our phones or games. Or, we spend so much time worrying about the future and what it holds that we forget what the present has. We forget the freedom of being young, the new and unique experiences, and the feeling of discovery. We forget the precious details of a walk beneath the cherry blossoms and a dinner in a smoky restaurant. My fleeting experiences with my dad have heightened my appreciation of the moment. Time is something I can never get back, so I might as well make the most out of it.