This poem was written during my high school days when I was in my third depression, and when I found what an incredible healing tool writing could be. (Woab! I just had a metacognition flash typing that sentence: The act of finding something beautiful in a terrible time reflects the poem’s message it self. I found writing in my depression. [Oh, the isometric beauty!]) The 14th stanza (I’ve put it in bold.) has become a mantra for me when life splits at the seems.
Being able to speak a language is subjective. I have many Japanese friends who speak beautiful English but do not consider themselves to be English speakers.
Without knowing the heart of the student, the intent of the mother, and only looked at this act through the lens of Japanese culture, the act could be seen as morbid nefarious aggression. I.e., The student wished for my death.
I said, “Touch your chin,”and proceeded to place my finger on my mentum, however, toddler Japanese logic mandated not the mentum as modeled, but what he very knew to be his chin.
“When foreigners eat sushi, it really is peace, isn’t it.”- Jichan, 92 #sushipeace
“How did you hurt your face?” Asked my concerned coworker. “I hit my car,” was my matter-of-fact reply. Their looks of consternation […]