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Memoir of Good Old Days: Meeting Tourists at a Temple in Tokyo—and What Happened Afterwards

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  Please forgive this old person for indulging in a little reminiscence. Long ago, when I was young, I joined a travel company in Tokyo, near a famous temple. The temple had several tombstones belonging to famous samurai from the 18th century. As new employees, we were told by our senior colleagues that the tombstones were well known, even among tourists from abroad. They told us the story of the samurai, and out of curiosity, we paid a visit to the tombstones to recall those very old days when samurai were still part of Japan's history. The temple became our sanctuary during our lunch breaks. With the office almost refrigerated by air conditioning from early summer onwards, we escaped from the office and had lunch under a large tree in the temple grounds. The shade was wonderfully comfortable, and with the occasional breeze, we thawed ourselves out after being frozen in the office and enjoyed a leisurely lunch there. The temple was, indeed, a popular place for visitors from ...
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Puerto Rico: Piña Colada — The Culture and History of Drinks Around the World

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  When I was at primary school, my parents used to subscribed to a magazine which carried a regular series of travel essays. The writer described experiences from all over the world, as well as different parts of Japan, in fascinating detail. I always looked forward to reading each instalment. One of the essays described a stay at a tropical resort. I enjoyed reading about the beautiful scenery, the food and the drinks, but one particular word caught my attention: Piña Colada. From the context, it seemed to be some sort of drink. But as a primary-school child, I simply assumed it was a fruit juice or something similar. Years later, when I was old enough to drink, I once went to a South American restaurant in Tokyo with some friends who were studying Spanish. While we were there, a waiter brought something to the customers sitting in a booth on the other side of the aisle. “Piña Colada.” The moment I heard those words, a distant memory came back to me. The large ...
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Essay : An Old Story: Memory of Café English Lesson in Japan

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  Please forgive this old person for indulging in a little reminiscence. It was more than twenty years ago.   For several years, due to ill health, there was a period when I was unable to work outside the home. Then, fortunately, I happened to find a good doctor, and I finally began to feel that I might be able to return to work.   If I were going to work again, I thought, it might be useful if I could speak at least a little English.   But in those days, there were no video-sharing sites, no social media, and not even internet radio. The only thing I could listen to, more or less, was what was then known as FEN, the radio service for American military personnel stationed in Japan. There were very few opportunities to come into contact with English at home.   So I started looking for somewhere near my home where I could practise speaking English. And that was when I found a teacher offering what was advertised as ‘500-yen English conversati...
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Short Novel : America : Welcome Home　

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  I was an American.   I was seven years old when we went back to Chicago. I had been born in Japan, but America was home. I thought of myself as an American.   My parents were Japanese, but they'd both spent time in America back in the 1950s. In our family, it was just understood that someday we'd go back to America.   Dad was Japanese, but in his heart—and in the way he spoke—he was an American.   Even when we were still living in Japan, I spoke English with Dad. Inside our house, we spoke nothing but English. Whenever I said something to him, he'd stop me.   "Ken, that's not how an American says it." I'd try again. "Still not good enough." Sometimes I felt like crying.   I'd say it exactly the way Dad had said it. I'd roll my tongue. I'd try to get the sound just right. And then Dad's face would break into a huge grin. "Now that's American. Don't you forget it." ...
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