Anna Matsushita

  Approximately 40 years ago. During my time at school in the UK, an incident occurred that has lingered vividly in my memory.  One day, as I sat reading a newspaper in the classroom, a senior student—a year above me—spotted me. Later that day, he approached me in the hallway and said, “Will you bring the newspaper of yours?” Without much thought, I responded, “Roger, wilco,” before heading off to fetch the newspaper, which I had left behind in the classroom. No sooner had I uttered the phrase than a Canadian teacher nearby interjected, visibly startled: “What did you just say?” I replied, slightly perplexed, “I said, ‘Roger, wilco.’” “And what does that mean?” he demanded. “It means the same as ‘Aye aye, sir,’” I explained, hoping to clarify. To my surprise, this only seemed to deepen his confusion. “If ‘Aye aye, sir’ is a naval term,” he pressed, “then ‘Roger, wilco’ must surely be an Air Force expression. Why would a Japanese student like you know military jargon?” I couldn...

  Permit me to share with you a reflection—an old woman’s monologue, if you like.   Long time ago, I was a student at an international school in London. It was a salad bowl of languages and cultures, an environment that left an indelible mark on my younger self.   Among my classmates was someone who often reached out to those struggling with English. Notably, all these students were Japanese. I recall thinking to myself at the time, "What a considerate and generous person he must be."   Then came a moment of discord that has lingered in my memory. Perhaps due to my own faltering grasp of English, I misinterpreted his words, believing him to be speaking ill of others. Hurt and indignant, I cut ties abruptly.   The following day, as I descended the staircase from the first floor to the ground floor, I overheard a conversation—one that has stayed with me ever since.   “You should stay us! If you stay with Japanese, your eyes will be slanted...