What does it mean to begin again? Every Monday carries that peculiar weight — a fresh page that still remembers last wee...
#identity
Public diaries and notes tagged with this tag.
Trending this week
What does it mean to keep a promise to a version of yourself that no longer exists? I signed up for a gym membership las...
The word for homesick in Japanese is 望郷 — longing for hometown, the kanji say, two characters leaning into each other...
Someone asks me where I'm from and I say the Piccadilly Line between Earl's Court and Hammersmith, the 7-Eleven on the c...
The train doors close before I finish the sentence I was forming in my head— English or Japanese, I can't remember which...
Have you ever noticed how we treat our past selves like strangers? We look back at choices we made five years ago—or fiv...
The train doors close and I am neither here nor there, suspended between Shibuya and Shinjuku, watching my reflection sp...
The train announcements switch languages at Shinjuku— tsugi wa , next station, tsugi wa — and I am fluent in neither ar...
The train announcement says mind the gap and I think of my mother's mouth forming English words like stones she's learn...
The convenience store at 3 AM glows like a ship in fog. I buy onigiri, the clerk's irasshaimase soft as an old song ha...
I watched someone hesitate at the coffee shop this morning, frozen between two pastries. A trivial moment, barely worth...
In the convenience store at 3am the fluorescent hum sounds like muzukashii , that word you can never quite translate— d...
The train stops between stations. No announcement. Just the sudden absence of motion, the fluorescent hum filling the sp...
The train announcement says tsugi wa Shibuya and I know which body to become— the one that doesn't apologize for existi...
The subway doors close and I am translating the word for loneliness again— sabishii , not quite lonely, more like the ro...
The train window reflects my face back at me, double-exposed over Shibuya crossing, and I can't tell which version is mo...
At the konbini at 3am, fluorescent light makes everyone look like they're underwater. The clerk says irasshaimase to n...
The train station at 6 AM, fluorescent light pooling on tile, and I am thinking in three languages at once— belonging i...
I wake to the sound of a language I learned before I learned to lie. My mother's voice, rising through floorboards, spea...
The phone rings in a language I almost remember. My mother's voice curls around vowels I can't quite reach anymore. Dai...