Anna Matsushita

  The morning sky was heavy with grey clouds, the kind that pressed low over the city and whispered of snow yet to fall. It was one of those bitter January days when the air seemed to nip at your skin even through the thickest coat. As I drew back the curtains, the faintest blush of sunrise struggled to light the horizon, promising little comfort. It was 1986, the heart of the Showa era back in Japan, but here in London, the year had dawned with the same bleak winter mornings the city was known for. I forced myself out of my warm bed, the comfort of the covers reluctantly traded for the routine of getting ready. Breakfast was quick, a silent ritual shared with my mother before I gathered my essentials: a pencil case, a small notebook, my wallet, and the lunch my mother had lovingly packed. "Off I go," I called as I slipped on my thick, black coat, its padding a small defence against the cold. "Take care," my mother replied. I nodded, stepping out into the frosty air...

  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...

  One day, about 40 years ago, I was on the way from school to the underground station .   At that time, few people started call Japanese “Slanted eyes” at the school.  The person making racial remark was using typical London way - to wisper into your ear a racist remark, to make sure you hear it but no one else.  It was almost everyday thing that adults in suites wisper into my ear with horrible racist remarks. Beware, it was almost 40 years ago and things might be different now. Few girls, who have faced racial abuse for the first time, were either in deep shock or panic.  As I consoled them and give them emotional support, I was beginning to think I can not take this burden any more. Everyday, someone was crying, and they somehow call me and asked me to listen to  what they have to say.   One of the girls reported the racial remarks to a teacher who was responsible for the school affairs.   The process was slow, and I was almost t...