Anna Matsushita

  A few years ago, in a certain part of Tokyo, we found ourselves engrossed in gathering information about Cyprus as the night drew on. At the time, we were working for a small travel agency, and a client had approached us with the idea of creating a tour to Cyprus. We worked closely with our local partners on the island, while also gathering as much information as we could in Japan, all in an effort to craft a truly remarkable tour.   Cyprus, an island nation in the Mediterranean, lies just off the coast of Turkey. It is easily accessible, with airlines offering connecting flights from Japan. The island has long been home to many Greek settlers, and historically, it has fallen under the rule of several great empires: the Hittites, Assyrians, Egyptians, Roman Empire, Frankish Kingdom, Venice, the Ottoman Empire, and Britain. Like many Mediterranean islands, it is a crossroads of civilisation, where cultures have blended and shaped the land over millennia.   Cyprus boasts ...

  This happened about forty years ago. I was at school in England. One day, a student a year above me saw me reading a newspaper in the classroom. Some time later, he came across me in the corridor and said, “Will you bring the newspaper of yours?” In other words, “Could you bring me the newspaper?” Without giving it a second thought, I replied, “Roger, Wilco.” I turned around to go back to the classroom and fetch the newspaper I had left there. But before I could take a single step, a Canadian teacher who happened to be nearby exclaimed, “What did you just say?!” “Er… I said, ‘Roger, Wilco.’” “What does that mean?!” “It means more or less the same as ‘Aye aye, sir.’” The Canadian teacher looked even more confused. I explained, “If ‘Aye aye, sir’ is a naval expression, ‘Roger, Wilco’ is something you hear in aviation radio communications.” The teacher did not seem convinced. Instead, he asked me, “Why does a Japanese girl like you know military terminology?” I cannot remember exact...

  Allow me, as someone of an older generation, to offer a reflection. This is a story from nearly 40 years ago.   When I had been attending an international school in London for about a year, at the age of 15, I developed a small ritual: a monthly visit to the nearby McDonald’s with my classmates. It was one of the few indulgences we allowed ourselves.   It was a bitterly cold winter, and despite the weather, we all ordered milkshakes. Naturally, holding the icy cup chilled my hands to the bone.   “ Oh my God, my hands are freezing!” I exclaimed without a second thought.   Suddenly, an adult passing by—a Black man—grabbed my elbow and asked sternly, “Who are you? Why are you, someone who doesn’t seem Christian at all, saying ‘Oh my God’?”   What a lookism.I was bewildered, left staring at him in silence, unsure what was happening. At that moment, another man, who appeared to be of Middle Eastern descent, joined in.   “ Are you...