Guardian Angel

Once in a while, it comes to me.
For no obvious reasons, it gets to me,
and I'd find myself floating in the Black Hole.

First the ground becomes transparent,
then I start falling,
or sink in a bottomless well.
There seems to be no light
or I'm surrounded by faceless people.

No friends or lovers,
mother or father
sister or brother,
would be able to reach my hand

No grandmothers or grandfathers,
uncles or aunts,
neighbours or enemies,
would hear my soundless scream.

I'd stand, sit, walk, sleep and wait,
until the exit emerges.
When I finally step out, there's the ground.
My life resumes its peaceful routine
until it snatches me to dark places again.

One day I realised
that I don't find myself in Black Hole as often as I used to.

It must be you.
You, who reaches for me
even before I reach for you
every morning.

Words Hung in the Air

The words hung in the air like a three-count indictment.

This is a line from the prologue of Black Dahlia.
James Ellroy describes the deadly silence like a Japanese sword sheathes itself in a perfect slow motion.

Words used to echo in my head. These days words hover in the air. A line or a single word,
a sentence or a paragraph, they float above me and shine in prismatic colours, casting a beautiful reflection over my daily life.

I mumble to myself;

The words hung in the air like a three-count indictment.
The words hung in the air like a three-count indictment....

Preserving

From spring to summer in 2009, I made compote or jam every week. I started making my own for two reasons; store-bought jam is too sweet for my taste and buying from shops means more empty jars to recycle. Although 90% of my production was consumed by my husband, I still enjoyed the process of turning fresh fruit into something a bit more lasting.
My new mutant name was announced when I started talking about making fruit leather, homemade oil sardines and smoked bacon.
"If you were a Sesame Street character, " said my husband, "you would be called Preserve."

Cookie Monster: Ohhh! Cookies!!! Yum yum yum yum...
Preserve: Wait, you blue fluffy thing, let me preserve them first.

Elmo: Lalala...lalala...What are you doing, Preserve?
Preserve: I'm preserving your goldfish. You'll be able to be with him as long as you live.
Elmo: ....(fainted)

Big Bird: Have you seen Snuffy?
Preserve: He's over there. I've preserved him.
Big Bird: Are you saying you've stuffed my best friend!?
Preserve: No, I mummified him.

The Count: One bat, hahahahaha! Two bats, hahahahaha!
Preserve: So they say you are a vampire.
The Count: Me? No, I am the Count.
Preserve: And you are a vampire.
The Count: Um....I suppose I am.
Preserve: So you're dead.
The Count: Well...
Preserve: You don't need to be preserved then.

I think Preserve belongs to the Simpsons rather than Sesame Street.
This reminds me of The Landlady, a short story by Roald Dahl.
I can't and will never be able to understand what is so good about stuffed animals. I'm not a big fan of preserved flowers either. Unlike preserved food, they seem pointless to me.
The obvious difference; preserved animals or flowers are there just to get dusty.
But when it comes to food, time improves its quality; pickled, marinated or cured.

Venus

She is not slim but she's not fat either.
She doesn't seem to be very young.
In fact, she looks like a woman in her 30's with some familiar plumpness.
She has round arms and soft fat tissue around her abdomen.

This is a statue of Venus.
This was the idea of "beauty" in ancient Greece, and I love that.
I stood in front of her and stared at her.
She has sexy knees but she looked quite ordinary.
And yet, she was exquisite.

The Summer Beauties

I'm calling it; time of death, eleven hundred and twelve seconds, July 20th, 2009.

I gave up on my tomato plant a month ago.

The herbs have been doing really well in the windowsill trough.

But the tomato plant, despite my love and care, didn't make it.

Apparently, most part of England is too cold for growing tomatoes.

So where do these beautiful tomatoes I purchase at the green grocers every other day come from?

Spain, perhaps? Or south of England, probably?

No airfreight, I suppose.

Anyway, this summer I'm making the most of seasonal vegetables and fruit.

Especially tomatoes. There is no day we spend without a tomato in our bamboo basket.

I can't believe I was buying them in the supermarkets all the time last summer.

The ones in our local green grocer smell and taste 10 times better, and cost half as much.

It makes me content to smell the riped red beauties on a vine as I place gently in the basket.

Oh, the joy of the summer!

This year we've been quite lucky with the weather.

We have enjoyed a fair amount of sunshine.

Even on a cloudy day, I would think "It's at least dry."

And when it's warm and nice, I'd think, "There's no place like this."

Escape over the Himalayas

These children, including a seven-year-old, climbed over one the tallest mountains in the world.

Why?

Because they needed better education.

Because it was their parents' will.

Because if they didn't, their identity would be lost, perished and extinct.

So they kept walking in the snow for weeks, suffering from frostbites, risking their fingers, toes and sometimes even life.

What was worse was the fear of getting caught.

With the world's most influential country being in debt of one of the richest, it has become even more unrealistic for these children to be able to go back to their own contry again.


The children now live in India.

KIKU Website

Parents' Evening

I was sitting in the chair in the school dining room one evening, next to a woman who was wearing a sleeveless shirt and a pair of Birkenstock-like sandals.
"It's horrible. But there's no better way to do it. At least this time the room is smaller so it's not too noisy."
I nodded to her, pressing a handkerchief gently on my forehead . I was sweating.
"You know if you call the teachers beforehand, sometimes they can tell you when they are free. I have three children and there's only one left in here, so I learned my tactics."
she continued and I started asking her questions that I already knew the answers of because I didn't know what else to talk about.
Soon, it was her turn and I was free from a small talk with a stranger.

Everything is so different from Japan in the UK, but the school system here is almost the biggest culture shock.
Parents' Evening for instance.
You have to go to the school during certain time on a certain day and queue up for each teacher's unit for a brief updates. Things they tell you is nothing out-of-blue or new, they would just repeat the same thing they had written in the report cards.
Last year I spoke with only two teachers;PE and art. Most of other queues were ridiculously long, plus my husband and I arrived there too late. And some teachers, to my surprise, weren't even there.
This year I went to my son's school early by myself and got to speak with 7 teachers. I even spoke with some learning support staff.
All of them said the same thing.
Some of it hurt ever so slightly.

Oh, parenting,
this freaking ride in a twirling coffee cup.

Don't Die, Don't Die

In November 2007, I learned about Norman Mailer's death in a newspaper article. He was 84.
I had never read his book but the small article somehow drew my attention. Just then, I received a text from my husband saying "Norman Mailer died." He was looking for empathy and he got mine.
I felt as though some part of me was plucked off without warning when I learned that Yoko Mori had passed away. She was only 52.

Among the few albums which I carefully chose to bring to the UK with me were three Yo-Yo Ma albums. One of them is Bach's Unaccompanied Cello Suites. The whole album is more than two hours but I hardly notice the time. For me, it's a kind of music that makes me stop doing whatever I am doing and just listen. Yo-Yo Ma gives me the illusion of more than a single musical instrument.
It's absolutely mesmerizing.

In the Guardian Weekend issued on 2 May, the US comedienne Sarah Silverman answers 20 or so short random questions in the interview. For the question "Cat or dog?", she says: Dog. His name is Duck and he's 15. All I can think when I'm curled in bed with him is ,"Don't die, don't die."

The other day, I found myself reading the liner notes of the album to check Yo-Yo Ma's date of birth. He was born in October 1955.

"Still got time."

I was actually saying that aloud.

I wasn't curled in bed with the world famous 53-year-old cellist but I guess I was having a Silverman moment.

Don't die Yo-Yo, don't die.