Anna Matsushita

September, 1988. Mornings in London were beginning to darken, and the air carried that crispness hinting at the onset of autumn. I walked into the kitchen for breakfast, the faint aroma of toast and tea in the air. My father looked up from the table, his face a curious blend of seriousness and routine. “You’ve got to register at the police station within a week of your 16th birthday,” he said, setting his mug down. “It’s for the Alien Registration. Best to tell your teacher—you’ll have to miss a class since they only process applications during the day.” Alien Registration. The word lingered in the air. Alien. It wasn’t a word I was entirely unfamiliar with. It carried two meanings, after all. One, a visitor from another planet; the other, a foreigner. The latter always seemed to sting a little, as though the law had to remind you that you didn’t quite belong. Among the older students at school, the term sparked no end of irritation. “Alien—honestly, what kind of language is that?” I’d...

  About thirty years ago, in mid 1990’s, I was waiting for her at ticket gates of Kensington Underground station in London.   As I leaned on the stone object, which looked line a fountain, I noticed there was a young man   looking at me.   I was slightly startled, thinking why he was looking at me. Then he came forward with soft smile on his face   “ Anna ？”   I could not recognise his voice, but behind his adult face, I remembered his younger days Besides, there is no one who knew my name   “ Kamire ？”   Bingo.   He was brother of my best friend from a language unit of an international school in London. We sit at the same class, and we had lots of fun during the brake. 7 years passed since then   The boy who was a12 years old at that time, became 17 years old grown-up boy now. His voice changed, and was wearing thin beard. I nearly gave him a big hug, but realised that he is no longer the little b...