childhood memories

Long ago, when I was about twelve, I was at a large family gathering at my relative’s house. We were all sitting together in the living room, chatting over tea and snacks when the eldest person in the group – let me call her Fuku in this story – started telling us a “remarkable encounter” […]

I’m about three or four in this memory. In the evening, my father helps me to take a bath. I wash my body with a small square-shaped burgundy towel, then once I finish and settle in the bathtub, I place my towel on the metal top of a gas tank adjacent to the tub. It’s

I’m five in this memory. One weekday morning, I’m watching TV with a spare hair tie in my hand when suddenly, a fun idea occurs to me. A giggle creeps up my throat as I reach for my toddler brother, who is sitting in front of me. His soft hair is short, but long enough

This is a loose continuation of the post Running Late. On those mornings when my father isn’t available, my mother sends me to my friend’s house so that I can walk to kindergarten with them. I leave home early at the same time as my mother leaves for work, then she drops me off at

I’m five or six in this memory. My mother takes me to kindergarten every morning except one day a week when she has work early in the morning. Then, one of the two things happen. Either I go to kindergarten with my friend and her mother, or if my father is up, he takes me.

I’m five years old in this memory. It’s a weekday morning. I never seem to notice the morning’s arrival until my mother comes to wake me up. “Sweetie,” she calls out in a loud voice that yanks me out of sleep. “Time to wake up!” In our tiny living room, my little brother is already

I’m five years old in this memory. These days, I’m afraid of darkness. Whenever I’m alone in the dark, a sense of insecurity creeps up on me. What if I see something I don’t want to see? Like a ghost? Luckily, my home is so tiny that there isn’t much darkness even in the night.

This story is a loose continuation of The Train Speaks. Another unique thing about this local train ride to my grandmother’s was that just before we got onto the train, there was a tiny noodle stand on the platform. It was the size of a regular kiosk one would find on a station platform, but

When I was small, every summer, I used to visit my maternal grandmother in the countryside with my mother. We would take a bullet train to a nearby city, then from there, take a local train to get to the closet station. One of the family members would meet us at the station and drive

My little brother is two in this memory. Though he triggers my mother’s anger far less frequently than I do – because he is still just a toddler – once in a while, he does something that results in her scolding him. Here is the unique thing about my brother’s response. As soon as my