WHAT a fast fall from the pinnacle of beauty. One Sunday, the trees stood in stunning full bloom. By the next Sunday, almost everything was gone.
A rare pinnacle of beauty in Sabah’s urban landscape vanished as quickly as it came, leaving many residents mourning the brevity of what some affectionately called “Sakura Sabah.”
Advertisement
The same sense of loss has been felt for centuries in Japan during the annual cherry blossom season, where crowds gather beneath sakura trees fully aware that the splendour before them will not last long.
Daily Express photographed the phenomenon on April 26 and published it on May 3 under the heading “Incredible ‘towers’ of Malaysian Sakura.” Yet by the very day the report appeared, the astonishing blooms at Jalan Penampang and Jalan Kolam in Luyang had already vanished.
Only scattered petals remained – swept to drains, flattened by tyres or carried away by wind and rain.
What lingered instead was a vivid reminder of something sages, poets and philosophers have long warned about: mortality, impermanence and the brevity of life itself.
The madness of endlessly chasing temporary glory versus the wisdom of seeking what endures suddenly did not feel like abstract philosophy anymore. It was there, scattered all over the roads of Kota Kinabalu.
The Pathos of a Sharp Rise and Sudden Fall
Readers who may have driven around searching for the blooms after publication probably wondered where is it!
But perhaps that disappointment itself captures the true essence of sakura.
Wherever they bloom – in Japan, Kota Kinabalu or even Washington D.C. – cherry blossoms mesmerise one moment and then collapse almost overnight into a blizzard of petals.
Their glory is dramatic precisely because it is brief.
One day, entire roads appear transformed into dreamlike corridors of pink and white. A few days later, bare branches stand where crowds once stopped for photographs.
That sharp rise and sudden collapse have long made sakura more than ornamental trees. They became symbols of life itself – beautiful, emotional, fragile and temporary.
In Japan, centuries of witnessing this cycle gave rise to a deep cultural awareness that beauty and sadness often arrive together.
What is the single best word to describe such fleeting magnificence?
Ephemeral.
Derived from the Greek word ephemeros, meaning “lasting only a day,” the term perfectly captures the fragile magnificence of sakura – vanishing almost immediately at the pinnacle of its beauty!
For some observers, the rapid passing of extreme beauty becomes powerful food for thought.
The blossoms seem to whisper uncomfortable truths to the proud, the powerful and the ambitious: rapid collapse of wordly glory, beauty declines and power eventually falls silent. All things pass.
Poets, Philosophers and the Fragility of Beauty
The fleeting beauty of flowers has inspired poets and thinkers for centuries because they mirror the human condition itself.
English poet Sir Thomas Overbury wrote in his 1613 poem A Wife: “All the carnal beauty is but skin deep.”
Maybe he is the one who first coined “beauty is skin deep.”
In Japan, 18th-century scholar Motoori Norinaga developed the idea of Mono no Aware, often translated as “the pathos of things.”
At first glance, the phrase appears partly English, but it is not.
“Mono” means “things,” “no” is a Japanese possessive particle meaning “of,” while “aware,” pronounced ah-wah-reh, refers to deep emotional sensitivity, sorrow or pity.
Together, the phrase describes a bittersweet awareness that all things are temporary.
The joy of witnessing beauty becomes inseparable from the sadness of knowing it will soon disappear.
This philosophy became deeply associated with sakura because cherry blossoms embody that emotional paradox perfectly: breathtaking beauty arriving at the precise moment of inevitable decline.
The concept also echoes Buddhist teachings on impermanence, or anicca, one of the central marks of existence.
Yet the message is not entirely pessimistic. If anything, “Mono no Aware” teaches people to appreciate fleeting moments more intensely precisely because they cannot last.
A sunset feels more precious because dusk is approaching.
A flower becomes more moving because tomorrow it may already be gone.
A King’s Reflection on the Brevity of Life
Long before Japanese philosophy articulated such ideas, ancient scriptures carried similar reflections on the fragility of existence.
One of the most frequently quoted biblical metaphors comes from King David, who wrote:
“As for man, his days are as grass; as a flower of the field, so he flourishes. For the wind passes over it, and it is gone.”
Meaning everything ends at death, unless it is reversed but precisely that is what the resurrection means - a central promised good news!
The imagery feels strikingly appropriate for Sabah’s sudden bloom.
For a brief moment, the city appeared transformed by overwhelming colour and softness. Then, almost overnight, the blossoms vanished.
The flowers did not merely decorate roadsides.
They interrupted routine.
They jolted a slumber.
Drivers slowed down. Residents stopped to take photographs. Conversations emerged among strangers. For several days, nature managed to command attention in a city usually dominated by traffic and hurried schedules.
Sabah’s Most Unforgettable Bloom
Perhaps the most unforgettable sight unfolded along Jalan Penampang, where 36 Tecoma trees suddenly burst into massive blossoms down a 200m stretch of road.
At the same time, another cluster erupted dramatically along Jalan Kolam in Luyang.
The trigger is what scientists call “rapid synchronisation.”
After a prolonged dry spell during March and April, a sudden rainfall, however light, triggered moisture-sensitive root tip activity.
This stimulated the production of plant hormones called cytokinin, transported through the xylem to dormant flower buds, causing mass flowering in unison.
Nature, in other words, had orchestrated a perfectly timed performance.
But like all performances, the curtain quickly fell.
A Tribute to Urban Planning and Foresight
According to Datuk Jimmy Goh, President of the Kota Kinabalu Journalists Association, the Tecoma trees along Jalan Penampang were planted years ago by the Penampang District Council.
What may once have seemed like an ordinary landscaping decision has now given residents an opportunity to experience something emotionally similar to Japan’s sakura season.
It is a reminder that thoughtful urban planting can shape not only physical landscapes but emotional experiences too.
Japan itself has deliberately cultivated sakura for more than a thousand years.
Its most iconic cherry blossom variety, Somei Yoshino, dominates much of the country because many trees are genetically identical clones propagated through grafting instead of seeds.
This ensures massive blossoms in unison, creating the dramatic nationwide displays associated with springtime in Japan.
The synchronised flowering is not accidental.
It is the product of centuries of cultivation, preservation and cultural reverence.
Why Malaysian Sakura Are Called ‘Tissue Paper Trees’
Malaysia’s Tecoma trees are sometimes nicknamed “tissue paper trees” because their petals are extremely thin, soft and delicate not because they make tissue papers out of the trees.
Sakura Diplomacy, War and Irony
Japan’s relationship with sakura extends far beyond aesthetics.
In 1912, Japan gifted 12 varieties in 3020 cherry trees to the United States 1800 of them were the iconic Somei Yoshina, as a symbol of friendship and diplomacy.
These trees were planted around the Tidal Basin in Washington, D.C., where they continue produce incredible blooms each spring.
Yet history later turned deeply ironic.
During World War II, large numbers of sakura trees in Japan were destroyed by incendiary bombings compounded by their own chopping to make land for food production.
The irony is that after the war, Japan had to go back to Washington to get cuttings to help restore its own sakura heritage.
But here is a largely untold story.
In WW2 the Japanese military exploited the powerful traditional image of the beauty but quick demise of cherry blossoms to encourage the kamikaze pilots to imitate the sakura spirit for Emperor and motherland.
It is hard to imagine the power of sakura had inspired such incredible dares to die in the infamous Pearl Harbour attack.
More Than Just Flowers
The sudden arrival and disappearance of “Sakura Sabah” may have lasted only days, but its emotional impact lingered much longer.
For many residents, the flowering was not merely a seasonal curiosity or social media attraction.
It became a reminder of how quickly moments of beauty pass – and why they should be appreciated while they last.
Perhaps that is why people stopped along busy roads to stare upward in silence.
Not merely because the flowers were beautiful, but because somewhere deep inside, people recognised themselves in them.
Brief.
Fragile.
Temporary.
Like the sakura traditions of Japan, Sabah’s fleeting pink blooms offered more than visual splendour.
They offered pause, reflection and perhaps even wisdom.
