Anna Matsushita

  1976 — Family and University Entrance Exam Preparations   When I returned to the boarding school, another move was waiting for me. Third-year students were given single rooms.   I left the four-bed room I'd been sharing and moved into a single room for senior students in another wing of the residence. The old desk had clearly seen years of use. Its surface was covered with messages and doodles left behind by generations of former occupants.   I heard that two of my former roommates had gone back to Japan. For some reason, quite a number of students seemed to have gone back to Japan after the spring holidays. By the time the first term began, our year group had shrunk from twenty-eight students to just fifteen.   Even a few of the friends I'd grown close to had gone. It felt as though little holes had been left in my heart. I missed them.   Our university entrance preparation began in earnest. The school organised supplementary ...

  1975 — Life at the Boarding School   Monday morning. First period was Mathematics.   "Good morning, everyone. Right then, open your books to page eighteen..." I did as I was told, but several of my classmates still looked half asleep.   A month had slipped by since I'd arrived at the Japanese boarding school. I'd become quite used to eating in the dining hall. That morning, Maiko and I were chatting over scrambled eggs as usual. Before we knew it, the bell rang, ten minutes before lessons were due to begin. We grabbed our bags and ran to the classroom.   It didn't take me long to notice that, out of the twenty-eight students in our year, fewer than I'd expected paid much attention in lessons. It was the same in Mathematics as it was in Japanese. Some slept with their heads on their desks. Others didn't even bother to listen.   The moment the bell rang at the end of each lesson, a handful of students disappeared outside, ...

1978 – The Japanese Boarding School by the Sea "A Japanese school." I'd never heard the term before. It was only when Father was told he was being transferred to England for three years that it entered my life. In 1974, I was in my first year of high school, attending one of the city's top academic schools. If I worked hard enough, I believed I could sit the entrance exams for the university I wanted. Then came the news of Father’s transfer. The following year, in early summer 1975, my parents took me to England with my younger brother, who had only just started junior high school. Father had only one plan. He was determined to put both of us into British schools. I wanted nothing of the sort. I wanted to go to a Japanese high school in the UK. Even so, as soon as we arrived in England, Father dragged my brother and me from one school interview to another. Everywhere we went, the answer was the same. “You're already seventeen, and you don't speak English. I...

  “ Ema, that’s not right. Put your tongue against the roof of your mouth. Again.” Mum’s sharp voice rang through the living room.   My two little sisters and I were all born and raised in Tokyo, to Japanese parents.   It was 1977.  From the age of six, we had English lessons at home every single day. My sister, Marie was four, and the youngest, Emi was only one year old.   Mum was our English teacher, and she was tough. She showed no mercy, even with my sisters. "Mum was born in America and came back to Japan. At the time, I didn't know why."   She often told us about those days. Wide roads. Big houses. Kind teachers. A sense of freedom. And she always ended with the same words.   “ America is our homeland. One day, we’re going back. If you can’t speak proper English, people will think you’re a foreigner and look down on you.”   I was too young to understand what “look down on” really meant. But the word left...