Tag Archives: tokyo

A perfect cuppa


Book review, from Singapore/Tokyo – After a long hiatus, I’m glad to have found another book that I’d love to share. On election day in Singapore, I am chilling out as I listen to an archived chat with a legendary Japanese coffee meister of Daibo Kohiten (Daibo Coffeeshop; closed its doors in 2013) on Youtube. More of a tea person myself, the first few minutes are still a tantalizing string of sounds for the imagination. From the pouring of the beans to the shuffling of feet, I could almost smell the fragrance of the roast and the burst of aroma from the grinder, and see the bubbles in a slow dripping brew.

Daibo’s quote on the publisher’s website of 『看板のないコーヒー屋』(Kanban no nai ko-hi-ya, lit. The coffeeshop with no signboard) by Akiko Kameoka led me to the audio clip, and here’s a post that takes some time to savour the finer accents in the story.

The story begins with a little wolf who ran a second-hand bookstore. It enjoyed a steady flow of customers who came not just for the books, but also for the wolf’s coffee, brewed and served to all who dropped by. Everyone loved how well the coffee tasted and just kept coming back.

One day, the wolf took a walk through the woods and an amazing aroma led its nose to an unassuming overgrown shrub. As it searched for the source of the fragrance, an adult fox politely asked it to step aside, opened a door and went inside… It was a coffeeshop!! The little wolf peered in and saw many animals all sipping or waiting for their cup. A bear stood behind the counter preparing the black brew. It drew up some courage and stepped in. As it moved toward the counter, the wolf felt the gaze of everyone else.

With its back to the counter, the bear noticed its new customer and asked,
“Welcome.”
“May I?”
“Sure. What would you like?”
“Whatever you recommend.”
“What!?”

Shocked, at the bear’s curt response, the wolf didn’t know what else to say.

“It’s better for you to tell me what you’d like.”
“I’d.. I’d like something strong then.”
“You should’ve said that in the first place then”

The little wolf was taken aback by this exchange, and felt angry for being belittled for its age.

“I’ll take a sip and walk right out!” It thought.
The bear prepared the brew, took a taste and nodded in approval before serving.

One sip. That was all it took for the amazing flavour to keep the little wolf there till the last drop.

Returning to his shop, the wolf tried to recreate the same experience. But it couldn’t, no matter how hard it tried. It went back to the bear’s shop and asked to teach it how to brew the coffee the same way.

“No,” said the bear.
“I’m still learning too.”
“You’ll have to find your own way.”

And so the little wolf took onto itself to take the path of finding its own brew its own way. As it did, its customers to the little bookstore grew. Everyone was enjoying the coffee. (It was getting so good!) Yet, the wolf still could not recreate the bear’s brew. Wanting some feedback, the little wolf brought its brew to the bear for a taste. The bear took barely a sip and spat it right out.

And then the bear divulged how it went about making coffee. Selecting, washing, and drying the beans, varying the strength of the roast, fineness of the grind, the type and mix of beans and nuts, and even considering the humidity. The bear even took into account the wolf’s condition, brewing a slightly weaker but just as flavorful brew for its frazzled and tired customer who had tried everything to recreate the taste, and failed. And that is why, the bear explained, it was still learning how to create the perfect brew.

While the wolf continued to refine its brew, one day, word of the bear’s new master brew filtered in through one of its customers who recognized the brave little customer those years ago in that unassuming overgrown shrub. As it sipped the brew of the wolf that was no longer so little, it nodded in approval, “You’re getting there!”

As of the time of writing, Holp Shuppan Publications are keeping the identity of the bear a secret, so I would assume Daibo is Kameoka’s model for the wolf in the story. Speaking to the publisher in this interview, she revealed what spurred her to put this story into pictures for children. Amazed at how much life goes into just one cup, she sought to show this as another way of living. Dedicating time and effort to hone a specialty is a rarity in a time when we seek instant satisfaction, immediate results, and ever higher productivity (and profit).

In the same way, to just sit and watch (or listen) to a meister prepare a cup of coffee is a luxury that some of us can probably choose to afford. Because, why not take the time to savour the finer accents of life?

Much like Kameoka, I admire and am inspired by the bear’s and the wolf’s dedication to their craft, and more so by their relationship. The bear is a stern yet humble mentor, and the wolf its willing and dogged successor. One can be a teacher to another, but an inspiring mentor leaves an indelible mark on its disciple. As I read the story, I felt the bear smiling warmly at the little wolf’s progress with words that spurred them on to their desired land of the perfect brew. The wolf is lucky indeed to have stumbled upon this humble bear, and I fortunate to have learned about the stories in this beautiful book.

『看板のないコーヒー屋』(Kanban no nai ko-hi-ya, lit. The coffeeshop with no signboard) by Akiko Kameoka
Publisher: Holp Shuppan Publications, 2024

From poem to picture book


Book review, Tokyo – I picked up 『生きる』(Ikiru, lit. Live) at the bookstore the other day and remember being drawn to it by the everyday scene on its cover. A three-storey block of flats coloured by several futons hanging out to air on some balconies. A bicycle stand peeks out from the corner of the cover, just like how they are always in some accessible yet hidden corner of the compound. A boy reaches over the railings of the first floor unit balcony for his cap from his mother while two women chat across the common backyard over the chest-high fence – one on her balcony, the other in the shade of her umbrella. On the third floor, a man stretches to his side while a boy looks down at the scene below through the balcony railings as his mother hangs the laundry. It’s a warm and summery kind of day.

In the pages within, Yoshiro Okamoto‘s illustrations give shape to the musings on living life in Shuntaro Tanikawa’s 1971 poem. The poem begins, “To live / is to live now, in this moment” and continues
“that’s to feel thirsty
to squint from the sun shining through the trees
recall some fond melody
or sneeze
or just hold your hand
To live
is to live now, in this moment
a mini skirt
the planetarium
Johan Strauss
Picasso
the Alps
To experience all things beautiful
and to beware of hidden dangers…”

As Tanikawa words prompt us to look, see, think, feel, imagine and interact – live – as we read it, so do Okamoto’s illustrations of everyday scenes from a pedestrian crossing, a room looking out into the garden, to a row of shops with people walking by as other wait for a bus. We are invited to use all of our selves to hear a dog barking somewhere faraway, think about the earth rotating on its axis, hear the cry of a newborn baby somewhere, the cry of a soldier being wounded someplace, a swing swinging, to see now becoming the past just now.

In an interview, Tanikawa revealed that he didn’t think this poem was particularly well-written, because some of the verses were just names or things. It was intentional. Leaving verses incomplete (or as he says, frayed) was so that people try to act on it – live – as they read. Living life was different from making a living, he opined. Before the picture book project, the poem had already inspired photobooks and other publications, but the editor found reason for creating a picture book for children in the wake of the 3.11 earthquake and disaster – to help them see the joys of just being alive in the moment.

They created 35 dummies and decided on the one that opened with a belly-up cicada being found by ants. And so the picture book inspired by a poem on living life would start with a picture of death. Life and death are two ends of one continuum, two sides of the same coin. And the pictures are full of hints and prompts to live life, to experience and savor it, instead of fearing death and living in a way as to avoid it. Of course, there is sound advice to “beware of hidden dangers” while enjoying the ride, which we will do well to remember.

More today than in any given era, we are being constantly bombarded with prompts and distractions that prise our attentions away from our immediate surroundings, making us forget our capacity to be in the here and now. Taking the time to flip through this book gave me renewed consciousness of my being, a most gratifying experience of remembering what it is to be alive.

『生きる』(Ikiru, lit. To live) by Shuntaro Tanikawa, illustrated by Yoshiro Okamoto
Publisher: Fukuinkan Shoten, 2017

Along the way


Book review, Tokyo – 30 June, 2024 was the book birthday of 『みちくさ』(michikusa), a crowd-funded picture book based on the melodious, calming tune by well-loved Japanese singer-songwriter Toshihiko Shinzawa. Published by ask music, a company Shinzawa founded, the book is illustrated by Keiko Sugawara, whose characteristic art adorns many of ask music’s publications.

While most of Shinzawa’s songs might seem to have been created with children in mind, many parents in Japan are likely to know some of them. With『にじ』(A Rainbow, performed in English by Satoko Yamano) and『はじめの一歩』(hajimenoippou, lit. that first step) among the perennial favourites for pre-school and elementary school ceremonies and events, you’ll probably be able to find a parent who remembers hearing them teary-eyed.

As a translator volunteer, I met Shinzawa in person many years ago at the Asian Festival of Children’s Content in Singapore when the National Library Board invited Japanese creators over for the annual event’s country-focused sessions. Having followed ask music and their work since then, I came across the song michikusa and have been captivated by its melody and lyrics ever since.

If michikusa were written in Kanji, it would likely be 道草, “road” and “grass”. There is, in fact, a Japanese proverb michikusa wo kuu, which would literally read “to eat the grass along the road”. I wouldn’t be surprised to see michikusa translated as “dawdling” or “wasting time” because it does sound like someone taking more time than usual. The lyrics of the song, however, sing about another way of seeing things.

Here’s the gist of it…

If we are overly concerned
with how people dress and look
one day, we might realize
we don’t see ourselves at all.
Sometimes we are not strong
or brave enough to face our problems.
Sometimes we can’t live up to people’s expectations.
But that’s okay.
The path may be strewn with rocks and pebbles.
Isn’t it a pretty sight too?
A puddle might be in the way.
Isn’t the sky in it beautiful?
People might think you’re taking your time.
Well I know there was a flower
waiting for you along the way.

The song, I thought, reminded me to not be bothered with comparisons, to celebrate the little things in life, and to take time to enjoy the journey. Precious little gems in a very short song, and little wonder it snuggled close to my heart. When I heard about the crowdfunding campaign, I asked whether the lyrics had been translated, and was happy and grateful that the editor gave me the chance to translate them into English (and suggested to put it into the picture book too!). Besides finding the words and syllables to fit the tune, I wanted to avoid the negative connotations in the title, so I went for “Along the Way”, a phrase I used in the English lyrics.

In return for my participation in the crowdfunding campaign, I asked for two signed copies for children. Shinzawa signed them with words from the lyrics, あせらない あせらない (aseranai aseranai), which is translated as “It’s okay, take your time”, a timeless message to remember to find the joy and beauty in our journeys and perhaps smell a flower or two along the way.

『みちくさ』 (Michikusa, lit. Along the way)
text by Toshihiko Shinzawa, illustrations by Keiko Sugawara
Publisher: ask music Co., Ltd. (2024)

You can hear the Japanese ukulele version with illustrations from the picture book here.

Big brother cat


Book review, from Tokyo – Picture books on cats dominated bookstore display shelves over the weekend as Japanese honoured their feline friends because 22 February (22/2) can be vocalized as nya nya nya, a cat’s meow in Japanese.

Among the many realistic portraits and cute illustrations, Hiroko Omori’s 『わすれていいから』(Wasurete ii kara, lit. Fine, forget me) stood out. It wasn’t a title I expected for the occasion. The cover showed a boy reading a book while lying down on a window sill with a cat lazing nearby, laid back and relaxed in each other’s presence. Who was saying this? Why? I turned the page in search of answers.

The story begins with a baby cat. Unnamed. Alone. Perched on the window sill. Watching over its patch.
One day a baby boy comes home, making him its little brother. Now it watches over their patch.
They play together. Sleep together. Eat together. But little brother’s food seems to taste better.
The days pass. Little brother grows slowly, big brother grows quickly.

Soon little brother grows bigger, and big brother quickly feels smaller.
Little brother starts going to school. His friends come over to play.
When he does his homework, big brother cat warms his lap.
As he grows taller, little brother spends more and more time outside the home, and less and less time inside.

He seldom ever comes back home nowadays, big brother laments. Fine, forget me.

Firing a pointed parting shot at its human sibling, I couldn’t help but feel that the feline hoped the boy back would visit once in a while. But it recognizes that the boy has found his own patch, his own space. And with that goodbye, it is in fact wishing him well while keeping its furry belly and back open to his playful fingers.

Omori shaped the cat’s voice very much like I expected. Usually chill. Often restless. Sometimes angry. And always watching. Out for its little brother. Partnering her words, Omori’s illustrations portray the siblings together, growing gradually apart in size and space. That simple, short read engaged many different aspects of love and affection. Touch. Belonging. Space. And ultimately, letting go.

While the end was inevitable, the cat hastened it, almost pushing the boy away, albeit with a bittersweet longing. It felt like some of the farewells a parent would experience in life, while not as contorted and final, often leaving the door ajar. And much like in the book, with a myriad of sentiments purposely left unsaid.

『わすれていいから』 (Wasurete ii kara, lit. Fine, forget me) by Hiroko Omori
Publisher: KADOKAWA Corporation, 2024

Learning horse


Book review, from Tokyo – In the distance, wild horses dot a grassy plain stretching over the horizon. When I learned that wild horses apparently no longer live in the wild even in Mongolia, this image seemed even more distant. Imagine my surprise to find a book saying that horses lived in the wild on Yonaguni island, Okinawa. What’s more, San Kawata has apparently mastered the language of the horses there, and is sharing his insights in 『ウマと話すための７つのひみつ』(Uma to hanasu tame no nanatsu no himitsu, lit. The seven secrets to talking to horses; Seven Secrets).

A horse-only version of Doctor Dolittle, Kanagawa-born Kawata moved to Yonaguni in 2009 to live with the wild horses there. He set up kadibooks and has published several books on horses and understanding them. (See more here.)

In Seven Secrets, Kawata’s simple illustrations demonstrate his observation and knowledge of how horses express themselves. Drawing from his earlier kadibooks publications, Kawata shares with children how these creatures communicate. Identifying the difference between a pleaful neigh and an excited whinny, he explains their body language. How their ears and tails show their mood (tense or relaxed, happy or even restless), how they stamp in agitation or shuffle their feet in unease, how turning away translates into wanting to be left alone, and how they curl their upper lips to raise their noses highest when they want to smell something better (weren’t they just baring their front teeth and laughing?!). Their actions go through a certain rhythm too. They might stroll peacefully, then dash with energy, leap suddenly in excitement, or lie down lazily. Whether it is the wind, the sun, the birds, or some bugs, the surroundings also affect their rhythm and mood.

Kawata also explains that some horses can be quite friendly while others are timid. One could be short-tempered while another might be really laid back. He also shares that horses have a unseen zone, a circle in which only the trusted are allowed. Horses close to each other trust each other. When approaching another, they graze quietly nearby to gradually build up trust until one day their two zones overlap. If things don’t turn out, the distance between them would grow. (The spurned party giving chase might end up on the receiving end of a hind kick!)

Well, how should a child approach a horse then? Don’t, because trust needs to be built, remember? So Kawata suggests standing quite still, a comfortable distance away, and avoiding a direct gaze. When the horse feels comfortable, it’ll come near to take you into its zone.

Reading Seven Secrets made me want to learn more about the language of horses and other living things. The signs in the body language of horses seemed almost human. Observing and learning to communicate with them could lead us somewhere. If we began to understand horses and other animals in the wild, perhaps we might find our place in the natural world. If I could I’d strike up a conversation, starting with the changeable weather.  In this textbook on horse speak for children, I feel a sense that Kawata is sowing the seeds for a little Dolittle to do just that.

 

『ウマと話すための７つのひみつ』(Uma to hanasu tame no nanatsu no himitsu, lit. The seven secrets to talking to horses) by San Kawata
Publisher: KAISEI-SHA Publishing, 2022

Getting away


Picture book review, from Tokyo – It’s the start of the Golden Week holidays in Japan when the entire white-collar working population (and some more) go on vacation. I popped by my local library to find what they had picked for children, and found a picture of a family of capybaras set among some long grass, somewhat near their home. Were they on vacation?

Translated by Makiko Amino as 『カピバラがやってきた』(Kapibara ga yattekita, lit. Here come the capybaras), the title gave little away, but Alfredo Soderguit’s capybaras did not convey the laid back, relaxed atmosphere that these animals normally look when they warm themselves in baths during winter. Eyes wide open. Huddled together and facing outward. They looked very afraid and alert to some unsighted danger.

The book starts off with life on a chicken farm. Chicken life is comfortable. There’s plenty of feed. Things are quiet and low stress. Except when the farmer to pick some chickens, of course.

One fine day, the family of capybaras arrive. The chickens try to chase them away. But when the rodent family stays without explaining much else, the chickens set rules that must be obeyed. No questions asked! The capybaras are told to stay in the water, far far away from the chickens’ feed. When a baby capybara ventures on land and befriends a chick, the chickens make a racket! The capybaras are wild animals! And you’ll never know what they’ll do!

And the capybaras do just that. They scare off a hunting dog from the chick and their baby, and the chickens let them come on land. The chickens teach them their way of life and even let them sleep in their barn.

After the end of the hunting season, the capybaras return to their home. But they still drop by to visit, and eventually… the chickens make their getaway on the backs of the capybaras to a sheep farm elsewhere on the banks of the lake.

Award winning Alfredo Soderguit needs no introduction, and this story needs no explanation. Outsiders seeking temporary refuge. Trusting others and learning to live together.

But there seems to be another underlying current. Getting away from conflict and danger offers temporary respite. The chickens sought a long-term solution – they left their apparently comfortable but perilous dwelling (you never know who’s next!).

I took a while to settle on the title for this post. But when I did, many questions surfaced in my head. Why do we need to get away? Perhaps there’s some monster? Chores? Work? Stress? KPIs?

Returning to the topic of getting away, when we humans make our temporary escape, we do so on our rules. Just recently, vacationers in Japan had reportedly come close to hitting wild boars that were rushing across the road. Wild animals have been sighted more often in built-up areas as human activity has receded, but with people now ready to move en masse across large swathes of the country, are we even aware of those unwritten rules and practices in the natural environment? Do we understand them well enough or even at all? Are we living well together with the rest of the planet? Is there a long-term alternative to our way of life today?

The capybaras made the chickens realize that there could be a better solution. If we learn to live with others and our environment, maybe we will too.

*Review based on the Japanese translation.

『カピバラがやってきた』(Kapibara ga yattekita, lit. Here come the capybaras) translation by Makiko Amino of the original Los carpinchos by Alfredo Soderguit
Publisher: Iwasaki Shoten, 2022

Another shade of night


Picture book review, from Tokyo – February traditionally signals the start of spring in Japan, when imaginary demons or oni (or dads donning paper demon masks) are pelted with roasted soya beans and driven out of the home in the annual mame-maki bean-throwing ritual at setsubun, the turn of the season in the calendar. Even so, after the sun sets, temperatures drop. That nighttime has grown shorter since the end of the Winter Solstice is scant consolation, and nights remain a time to seek shelter from the cold outside. The darkness of this time of the day might seem scary and daunting for some, while to others it might be just quiet and peaceful.

To Milly’s black cat Yoru in Masumi Asano’s 『ヨルとよる』(Yoru to yoru, lit. Yoru and the night), the night is the latter. Yoru’s eyes, round and bright eyes like the moon, peer out from his dark face. It is no wonder Milly named him Yoru, which means night in Japanese. But to the cat, even the moon was a complete stranger. Having not ventured out of the house at all, Yoru always thought that nighttime was always like that – humans slept, and all was peaceful and serene.

Until one day, when the tabby helped a mouse come unstuck from a crack in the outside wall. Initially wary of the cat’s motives, it was eager to repay the favour quickly, not that Yoru seemed the slightest bit likely to ask for something more in tune to its nature. Latching on to what Yoru thought of the night, the mouse offered to show him the colourful, exciting, and yummy side of it!

And so that night the mouse returned to take Yoru outside. Under the light of the moon, the two set off on their little jaunt into town. They were greeted by the sights and sounds of people dining in brightly lit cafes and restaurants filled with chatter and activity. When the smell of piping hotdogs wafted down their way, the mouse suggested for Yoru to buy one to share, and handed him a coin and a hat to hide his feline face.

Just as the hotdog was served, the wind lifted the hat away! The mouse shuddered at memories of stories of what happened if a human were to catch it! The person manning the hotdog stand was not only surprised by the pair, but was also kind enough to give them one each to fill their stomachs before sending them on their way back to Yoru’s home.

The story made me recall how excited I was as a child at any chance to go out at night with family. Whether it was to the flower market during Lunar New Year, a drive through the streets to catch the Christmas light-up, or a bite at a bustling hawker center to satisfy those late night cravings. While I saw that nighttime was more than just sleep and tranquil, I was also forewarned of staying close and avoiding the dangers that might lurk in the shadows. And when we returned home, the exhilaration of the adventure would fade and sleep would overcome me.

The book seemed to mirror this thought process – from curiosity to excitement mixed with a hint of fear before calm. Beyond that, this story of a cat and a mouse befriending each other suggests that getting to know someone would lead to new revelations. The mouse realizes that Yoru is kind (and warm), and the two learn that not all humans are scary. If Yoru didn’t reach out to help the mouse in the first place, he would not have seen the bright, colourful, yummy side of nighttime, albeit of urban life.

More than just a tale of different views of nighttime, it read like a simple story of adventure – of stepping out into the unknown and returning with new perspectives and a new friend.

Title:  『ヨルとよる』(Yoru to yoru, lit. Yoru and the night) by Masumi Asano, illustrated by Megu Yoshimura
Publisher: Kyouikugageki, 2022

The littlest country


Book review, from Tokyo – A couple of months back, I chanced upon this picture book by the late David McKee translated into Japanese. I felt it was what I needed to read then, a time when tensions everywhere seemed to just escalate. And today I flip it open again, feeling very much same.

Translated by Chihiro Nakagawa into 『せかいでいちばんつよい国』(Sekai de ichiban tsuyoi kuni, lit. The world’s most powerful country) McKee’s The Conquerors (2004) tells a story of the President (“General” in the original) of the most powerful country who waged war on the rest of the world so that they could all live “happily in harmony”.

One by one, countries fell to the world’s largest and most powerful army. Until there was just tiny one. The littlest country. But to leave it unconquered did not sit well with the president. And so he sent an army to conquer it. When they arrived, the people welcomed into their homes! The president even got the largest house in the country, where he wrote home to his wife and son to pass the time.

With nothing to conquer, the soldiers spent their time chatting with the people, playing their games, hearing their stories, laughing to their jokes, learning their songs. But when they started helping out, the emperor sent them home and called for a fresh group of disciplined soldiers. But when these soldiers also grew lax, the emperor headed home, leaving a small contingent behind. As soon as the emperor left, these soldiers quickly changed into their civilian wear to lead normal lives.

The president led a homecoming victory parade on his homecoming, but when his son asked him to sing at bedtime, he sang a song from the littlest country.

It was interesting to see this comical president garbed like Napoleon I in contrast with the French emperor as various versions of Genzaburo Yoshino’s 『君たちはどう生きるか』(translated into English How Do You Live? by Bruno Navasky) was enjoying a sustained resurgence in Japan at the time.

This funny, simple story of war and conquest with underlying messages of inclusiveness and pacifism left me hoping that if only the powerful and more of us were a bit more like that littlest country, the world might be that bit more open and peaceful.

*Review based on the Japanese translation.

Title: 『せかいでいちばんつよい国』(Sekai de ichiban tsuyoi kuni, lit. The world’s most powerful country) translation by Chihiro Nakagawa, original by David McKee
Publisher: Mitsumura Educational Co., Ltd., 2005

From a 2x1m room


Book review, from Tokyo – This story began in a room. A private room in a hospital in Sapporo, Hokkaido. Mion Maeda, then a Primary 3 child, was warded again for tests and treatment for focal cortical dysplasia. This was another of her frequent but short-term stays since she was diagnosed with this neurodevelopmental condition when she was three. One day, as she rolled under the overbed table, she discovered messages scribbled on to its underside. Messages from children like herself who had been in that same 2×1 room. She felt the urge to write an essay despite her condition affecting her writing hand. The essay won the unanimous vote of the judges panel for the top prize for the 2020 Children’s Non-fiction Literature Contest held by Kita-Kyushu City. It also caught the eye of publishers Shogakukan, who reached out to her and brought in well-loved illustrator Koshiro Hata to work with her to create 『二平方メートルの世界で』(Niheihou meetoru no sekai de, lit. In a 2m2 world).

The book opens with a view of Sapporo’s famed main street to set the scene for the essay, which starts,

My name is Mion Maeda. I am a P3 student from Hokkaido.
The bed in my hospital room is about 2m long and 1m wide.
A curtain goes right round the bed.
When I’m here, this is my world.
A place where I do everything – sleep, eat, play and study.

When she speaks of her family and her feelings, Maeda’s words hit home. Direct and unvarnished. Loneliness. From nuclear medicine diagnosis, where she and her mother have to be stay apart for an hour.
Fear. From the flurry of footsteps during the night shift that makes her think if she no longer has much time left to wonder what if, how come, or why.

It just happened to be me.

Who cannot move around too much before her tests. Who has to fast. Who has only rice, miso soup and onion slices for breakfast. Who is told she shouldn’t go on excursions because of her condition. Who just hates it all. Who wishes for just one day when she didn’t need to take medication. Who swallows those words before they are uttered. But who also knows that if she did, it would hurt everyone who is doing their best to help.

And so I keep it in.

One day, as she waited for her test, she rolled under her overbed table and found the scribblings of children like herself.

Yeah! I’m discharging tomorrow! 16 months is way too long!
Hooray! Congrats!

Keep on fighting!

I want eat everything!
Even natto!

Reop sucks!!
Fight!

I want to be healthy

Sorry for all the trouble mom

Hidden from sight were words from children who stayed there before her.
Children who also fought their own fight.
They spoke to her. And she knew she was not alone.

Someone once said to me, “You were chosen because you can overcome this.”
Don’t choose me.

She chose to share her story. Of her struggles in hospital.
Of finding those words. Of savoring each and every moment of her life.
To put it into words her realization of how wonderful it is to be alive.
For the chance to live the way only she can.

Sometimes solemn. Sometimes miserable.
A 9 year-old’s very real essay on life and her struggles that holds much for anyone to reflect on.
Ill or not.

Title: 『二平方メートルの世界で』(Niheihou meetoru no sekai de, lit. In a 2m2 world) text by Mion Maeda, illustrations by Koshiro Hata
Publisher: Shogakukan Inc., 2021

STV Video feature (in Japanese) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YBvE0iI2b3k

A story about a little sister


Book review, from Tokyo – A lone girl in a blue dress stands barefoot with her hands crossed behind her back. A doll in a similar attire lies face up beside her. A hand outstretched. When I saw the cover, I was drawn to the title, 『わたしのいもうと』 (Watashi no Imouto, lit. My little sister), thinking that it would have been a story about a little sister. Well, it was.

Keiko Ajito’s characteristic darkish, wispy lines on the cover sowed the seeds for the atmosphere of the story of a little sister’s suicide rooted in bullying. Only once throughout the entire book, do we see a page in lighter tones. Cheerful, faint, wistful, like a distant memory. From seven years ago. When the family moved to a new town. The little sister was then in Primary 4.

Miyoko Matsutani tells us that they spoke an unfamiliar accent. In school, the little girl was picked on for her shortcomings and her differences. She dished out lunch in class, but that was refused. In the end, no one even spoke to her. She ended up staying home, alone in her room, unable to eat, rescued from the brink only by her mother’s care and companionship. That fragile relief seemingly broken by the joyful voices of her classmates making their way to secondary school.

All this while we see her sorrow, loneliness, and isolation in dark pages. Crying in the playground with a lone withering flower. Sitting apart from her doll. Curtains drawn with a lone light inside. Ever since the bullying began, we almost only ever see the girl’s back, as if she had turned her back on the entire world.

The silent girl took to folding paper cranes. Endlessly until she was buried in them. Her mother folded paper cranes to try to understand what her daughter was feeling. Then one day, she was gone, leaving behind a short letter.

The kids that bullied me have probably forgotten about me.
I wanted to play with friends. I wanted to study.

In her end notes, Matsutani reveals that this book is based on a letter she received from the sibling. She warns us to remember that guileless actions and words can cause pain and suffering to others, and also offers advice to accept our differences to avoid friction and conflict, and notes how this is by extension the key to tolerance and peace.

In school, we had our nicknames. I did call others by their nicknames too. Some had less pleasing nuances, others were plainly repulsive. But never once did I feel that alone or isolated. However much one was targeted, we all had our groups to return to. Perhaps it was down to the acceptance of our differences that had been ingrained in a multi-cultural environment or the ambiguities of our own identities or vindications. Or our curiosity of those things that make us view others as different, that allow us to reach out, grab that extended hand, and pull it back from the edge.

I can see how bullying of an “other” thrown into a group can easily escalate when the group defines itself based on its specific differences from others and takes much pride in its exclusivity, such as in distinct national or cultural identities. But when its members start asserting themselves and recognizing the diversity within the group, it can and will evolve into a more inclusive and comfortable one for everyone. And perhaps then such a tragedy can be avoided.

Title: 『わたしのいもうと』 (Watashi no Imouto, lit. My little sister) text by Miyoko Matsutani, illustrated by Keiko Ajito
Publisher: Kaisei-sha Ltd., 1987