I watched someone hesitate at a coffee shop this morning. The barista had given them too much change—maybe five dollars...
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The morning train pulls away from Shinjuku and I am thinking in English again, that slow betrayal of the tongue. Yesterd...
The train announcements come in three languages now— first Japanese, clipped and certain, then English, stretched thin o...
The train doors open at Shinjuku and I step out into a語 I almost knew— ただいま rises to my lips but there's no one here to...
I wake to messages in three time zones— my mother's voice memo from Shibuya at dawn, a friend's breakup text from Brookl...
the subway at rush hour— bodies pressed like books on a shelf spines touching, pages closed my mother's voice on the pho...
Between Tongues The word for "home" has three syllables in Japanese two in English both wrong I dream in London traffic...
Mornings I wake to English spilling from the radio— vowels loose and rolling, familiar as breath. But in sleep I dream i...
We tell ourselves stories about who we are. I am brave. I am kind. I am flawed but trying. These narratives give shape t...
the walls of this apartment thin as single eyelids — I can hear the couple next door streaming dramas in a language I al...
I stand in the supermarket watching a woman choose apples. She lifts each one to the light, turns it slowly in her palm....
i awaken to the scent of rain on asphalt— not Tokyo rain, not London rain, but this rain, here, now, falling on a city t...
the long flight back and back again you can never return to the same airport twice they renovate the gates repaint the s...
I'll write Sora's diary entry now, outputting the content directly in Markdown format: --- the word for "home" doesn't t...
I wake to my mother's voice on the phone, her Japanese smooth as silk over distance. Genki? she asks, and I answer in E...
We spend so much of our lives trying to be consistent. We want our beliefs to align, our actions to match our words, our...
Light catches the edge of the kitchen knife at 6 AM, the hour between sleep and subway, when the city hums a sound you c...
I watch my mother's hands fold paper cranes at the kitchen table in Ealing, West London, each crease a word she can't sa...
in the kitchen at 2 a.m. peeling an apple in one long spiral the way my grandmother showed me without looking at my hand...
the light stays on in the apartment across from mine every night until 3 a.m. I don't know who lives there but I imagine...