childhood memories

I am four years old in this memory. Early August, my maternal grandmother comes to stay with us for the Sendai Tanabata Festival, our town’s major summer attraction. From 6th to 8th August, all the local stores inside the shopping arcades in the city centre hang traditional bamboo decorations from the outside ceiling, and visitors […]

In October 1996, my family moves to a new house in a suburban residential area. This is something my parents have been planning since nearly a year ago when my brother was still alive. Though our old tiny half-dilapidated apartment lacks nothing in my opinion, according to my parents, it is not designed to be

This story is a continuation of the post titled The Alternative Reality. Shortly after I finish the little book about my brother’s memories, a fun idea takes form in my mind. My brother used to have a collection of toy buses. What if these toy buses had lives? What if they could go on an

It is winter 2000. In our arts & crafts class, we work on paper prints. With a large blank sheet of paper in front of me, I listen to my teacher explain the procedure to the class, and a brilliant design idea pops up in my head. My brother is riding on his ride-on car,

It is April 2000, the first day of a new school year. I step out of my house with the rose-pink schoolbag on my shoulder. It is a bright sunny day with warm breeze. “Have a great day,” calls out my mother from behind, following me outside in her sandals to see me off. “See

The spring I turn eight, one day, I find a beautiful blank notebook in my mother’s collection. Recently, I have been thinking how if my brother had been alive, he would be starting kindergarten this month. With the blank notebook in my hands, his first day at kindergarten starts playing in my mind. In this

This story is a continuation of “Campfire under the Starry Sky.” “There is a bug in your eye!” My teacher’s concerned eyes meet mine. I have just come out of the breakfast room and greeted my teacher and a group of friends walking with her. “Yes, she’s right!” One of my friends exclaims in surprise.

This is a memory from the time when I was six. In July, my kindergarten hosts an overnight trip for all the kids of my year. We rent a bus and stay at a small village on the foot of Mt. Zao. We have all looked forward to this day for so long. Our brilliant

I am six in this memory. In late April, I am sitting with my two best friends in the playground. Our playhouse activity has come to a halt, and currently, we are just sitting, dangling our legs in the spring breeze. “She says she feels sorry for Maiko,” my friend’s voice grabs my attention. “She

In this memory, I am five years old. It is a weekend morning. As soon as my eyes open, the first thing I do is to locate my mother’s whereabout. As an early riser, her sleeping spot next to me is always empty by the time I wake up. In our tiny apartment, one can