A Bond Remastered
by Monique Bloomfield
The difference between classroom and real-life Japanese became painfully clear when I first arrived in Japan. My host family had no grade book, and I had passable Japanese, but an electronic dictionary, gestures, and a lot of patience proved to be enough.
The smell of her food
The sound of our shared laughter
The sight of us five
Over time, the titles of otousan and okaasan felt like they had meaning behind them and I had grown comfortable enough to scold their teenage sons for carelessly kicking off their shoes in the genkan.
I returned home to get on with the business of finishing my last year of college and figuring out a career path that somehow included Japan. Unfortunately, the distance was not only physical, as our correspondence became less frequent before stopping completely.
Those warm memories
overshadowed by regret
for not trying more
Years after returning to Japan for work, I was surprised by a Facebook message request from otousan. We picked up from where we left off with great ease. Messages led to a video call and then to a nervous request to visit them that was accepted.
The Atami hills
I avoided out of fear
welcome me back
I was caught up to speed by pictures of the boys, now men with their own homes and careers. In the doorway of the same room, okaasan stood with her handwritten itinerary of our upcoming travels written on recycled paper, all in hiragana, just like before.
The smell of her food
The sound of our shared laughter
The sight of us three