Domani 2
Ken
I nodded to the man as I squeezed past him to get to my seat.
“Good morning,” he said in Spanish.
“Good morning,” I wished him back. I was still a little sleepy; it was barely six, and an airport bench wasn’t exactly the most comfortable bed.
“Why are you going to Japan?” he asked me in Spanish.
I looked at him strangely. “I am Japanese.”
He blinked.
Later on, the air stewardess would ask me what I want in Spanish. I was able to handle her question in Spanish. To tell the truth, I don’t really speak Spanish. I know the basics, but let’s not kid myself, my Spanish is really elementary.
I have always loved languages. I enjoyed English classes, although I found the pace a little too slow; I was probably more advanced than my peers. I taught myself French in junior high, and dabbled a little in Italian, German, even Korean, which I picked up from the lady who owned a little shop selling groceries not far from my uncle’s house. But I never touched Spanish.
Until when I was 18, my aunt gave me a box, which she said belonged to my mother. Inside, was a photograph of my mother, along with a Spanish-Japanese dictionary.
When I was young, my dream was to travel the world and take pictures of all the beautiful things I see. I would stare at maps in the library, read travel guides, pick up travel brochures.
But I never thought that I would one day find myself in Spain, let alone Madrid. When I was in Paris, however, I felt that I could no longer run away from it. I wanted to go to Madrid, to see what it was like. I didn’t believe I would find her in Madrid, I just wanted to understand her, see the things she see, look from her perspective.
But in Madrid, I found myself instead.
***
Ichiro
The girl pushing the trolley with refreshments stopped beside me. I smiled and shook my head. She returned my smile and proceeded.
I was on the 11:05 Nozomi Super-Express, bound for Tokyo.
I looked at the paper bag on my lap. Two years of effort was contained within it, if you only consider the time I spent undergoing proper training.
“Welcome!” I heard Rie say.
“Uh…is there a Kenichi working here?”
“Rie, I’ll take over…she’s my friend.” I emerged from the kitchen upon hearing her voice.
Rie looked at me, then her and nodded.
“Hello!” she grinned. “I come at this time, because I thought it would be less busy, and we could chat.”
“Stupid, we need to prepare, we don’t really make the pastries only after the orders come in…”
“Oh…” she was a little crest-fallen.
“Never mind, my master isn’t around, so I can talk.”
She brightened up. “What’s nice?”
I thought for a while, went to the counter and selected a few.
“Did you make this?”
“No, my master made it. It’s his specialty.”
“What about this?”
I nodded. She tasted it and smiled. “It’s very nice! Did you create it?”
I shook my head. “I am learning from him. I haven’t thought about my own creations yet.”
“Why don’t you create something for me? Can I be the first one you create a pastry for?” she thought for a while. “Hmmm you can call it ‘Kanna.’”
***
Ken
As I opened my journal, a photograph fell out onto my lap.
“That’s a pretty girl. Your girlfriend?” Mr Garcia, who had mistaken me for a Spaniard, peered at the photo.
“No…she’s my best friend.”
He chuckled.
When I was six, I sat down on a bench at the playground near my uncle’s house and cried.
A little girl around my age came up to me. “Please don’t cry.”
I looked at her and stopped crying.
“I am Ito Kanna, what’s your name?”
“Kanna, we have to go.” A lady appeared beside the girl and led her away.
She turned around and waved. “Please don’t cry anymore!”
On hindsight, I guess with enough time, I would gradually forget about her, even though at that moment in time, to my childish mind, she was like an angel. As it happened, I met her again in grade two of elementary school. She was assigned to sit beside me.
When I was a kid, I used to cry a lot, partly because of what I was going through, and partly because I was often bullied and ostracized due to my looks. I never really belonged; Kanna was my only friend. She was more like an elder sister to me, speaking up for me, telling the other kids off.
The irony was that while I had recognized her from her face and her name, she gave no sign of having remembered ever meeting me at that playground. Somehow, I chose not to bring it up.
We were classmates for the rest of elementary school, after which, we went our separate ways. On the last day of school, she wrote her address and telephone number on a slip of paper, which I kept in my folder. But we never kept in touch, because on my way home, as I skipped gaily, I ran into some of the kids from school, and they pushed me and emptied my bag. I could only watch in horror as they shook out all the contents of my folder, as the slip of paper Kanna gave to me floated into the canal.
But as fate would have it, I met her again in high school. We weren’t in the same school; she was in some private, all-girls school. But one day, Ichiro told me that he was meeting someone, and would like me to come along. I suspected that it was a girl.
Even though Ichiro and I are best friends, we are very different. For one, he excelled in his studies, while I barely scraped through. He was on the baseball team while I was on the football team. He was methodical, while I was careless. He seldom talked to girls and always rejected them; actually, I was often the one who had to go up to those poor girls and tell them, ‘Sorry, but Kenichi is not free this weekend(again).’ Whereas my foreign looks had been a bane in elementary school, I suddenly found myself popular among the girls in high school, which I suspected was due in part to my exotic looks, and in part to my easy-going manner. In contrast to Ichiro, I had many girlfriends.
I had come a long way from an introverted child struggling to cope with the cruel joke God played on him to a confident teenager. That day, I had told myself that from that point on, I was going to be strong, because Kanna wasn’t going to be there to take care of me any longer.
I was certainly shocked to see Kanna. Yet again, she showed no sign of recognition. Again, I decided not to try to invoke her memory. Nevertheless, we clicked. From that day onwards, the three of us often hung out together.
To me, those were the happiest days of my life.
***
Kanna
“Hey Kanna! Aren’t you going to join us for lunch?”
“Nah,” I shook my head. “I have something on…”
“A date?”
I narrowed my eyes and we both laughed.
“What about afternoon’s practice?”
I put my finger on my lips and winked.
She shook her head in mock disapproval.
I started to break into a run. I was running late. True enough, when I reached the station, he was already there.
“I am sorry I am late!” I was still trying to catch my breath.
He laughed. “I guess we are even now?”
“What is it that you have in there?”
“You will know later. Where are we going?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Somewhere where we can sit down, talk and watch the world pass?”
“A café?”
He shook his head.
“Hmmm how about the Imperial Gardens? It’s just over there.”
“Sounds good.”
And so, we made our way there. We found a bench and sat down.
“So what’s in there?”
He handed me the paper bag.
I peered into it. I turned to look at him.
“That’s Kanna,” he said pointedly.
I broke into a wide grin. “I am going to try it… Oh, it’s really very nice. Have you tried it? Here…”
To be frank, Kanna was so much better than any of the other pastries I had ever tried, even his master’s specialty.
Ichiro was finally realizing his dream of becoming a pastry chef. I was happy for him, because it hadn’t been easy.
When we were in our last year of high school, Ichiro announced that he wanted to be a pastry chef. I dropped the plastic mug in my hand. He said he was serious. Ken gave him his full support. I looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes.
One night, Ichiro called me. He had somehow ended up in my area. I met him at the park in my neighbourhood. He had been crying.
That day, his homeroom teacher had talked to him about his future, as he had done with all his other students. He was shocked that instead of considering Todai, Waseda, Keio or even Hyogo, Ichiro wanted to be a pastry chef. His teacher must have gotten in touch with Ichiro’s parents, because when Ichiro reached home that day, they were waiting. His father and him had a big fight.
“If you want to pursue your so-called ‘dream’, fine. Get out of my house and don’t come back.” Ichiro said. “Those were his words.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“People tell me I can reach for the stars, I can achieve anything I want. I am just trying to do that. I don’t want to be a lawyer, doctor, scientist or whatever. That’s what they want. I know what I want.”
When Ichiro spoke like that, it was a little scary, because he was so filled with emotion, speaking with such force. But underneath that, there was his vulnerability.
“Is it wrong to want something else?”
I nodded to the man as I squeezed past him to get to my seat.
“Good morning,” he said in Spanish.
“Good morning,” I wished him back. I was still a little sleepy; it was barely six, and an airport bench wasn’t exactly the most comfortable bed.
“Why are you going to Japan?” he asked me in Spanish.
I looked at him strangely. “I am Japanese.”
He blinked.
Later on, the air stewardess would ask me what I want in Spanish. I was able to handle her question in Spanish. To tell the truth, I don’t really speak Spanish. I know the basics, but let’s not kid myself, my Spanish is really elementary.
I have always loved languages. I enjoyed English classes, although I found the pace a little too slow; I was probably more advanced than my peers. I taught myself French in junior high, and dabbled a little in Italian, German, even Korean, which I picked up from the lady who owned a little shop selling groceries not far from my uncle’s house. But I never touched Spanish.
Until when I was 18, my aunt gave me a box, which she said belonged to my mother. Inside, was a photograph of my mother, along with a Spanish-Japanese dictionary.
When I was young, my dream was to travel the world and take pictures of all the beautiful things I see. I would stare at maps in the library, read travel guides, pick up travel brochures.
But I never thought that I would one day find myself in Spain, let alone Madrid. When I was in Paris, however, I felt that I could no longer run away from it. I wanted to go to Madrid, to see what it was like. I didn’t believe I would find her in Madrid, I just wanted to understand her, see the things she see, look from her perspective.
But in Madrid, I found myself instead.
***
Ichiro
The girl pushing the trolley with refreshments stopped beside me. I smiled and shook my head. She returned my smile and proceeded.
I was on the 11:05 Nozomi Super-Express, bound for Tokyo.
I looked at the paper bag on my lap. Two years of effort was contained within it, if you only consider the time I spent undergoing proper training.
“Welcome!” I heard Rie say.
“Uh…is there a Kenichi working here?”
“Rie, I’ll take over…she’s my friend.” I emerged from the kitchen upon hearing her voice.
Rie looked at me, then her and nodded.
“Hello!” she grinned. “I come at this time, because I thought it would be less busy, and we could chat.”
“Stupid, we need to prepare, we don’t really make the pastries only after the orders come in…”
“Oh…” she was a little crest-fallen.
“Never mind, my master isn’t around, so I can talk.”
She brightened up. “What’s nice?”
I thought for a while, went to the counter and selected a few.
“Did you make this?”
“No, my master made it. It’s his specialty.”
“What about this?”
I nodded. She tasted it and smiled. “It’s very nice! Did you create it?”
I shook my head. “I am learning from him. I haven’t thought about my own creations yet.”
“Why don’t you create something for me? Can I be the first one you create a pastry for?” she thought for a while. “Hmmm you can call it ‘Kanna.’”
***
Ken
As I opened my journal, a photograph fell out onto my lap.
“That’s a pretty girl. Your girlfriend?” Mr Garcia, who had mistaken me for a Spaniard, peered at the photo.
“No…she’s my best friend.”
He chuckled.
When I was six, I sat down on a bench at the playground near my uncle’s house and cried.
A little girl around my age came up to me. “Please don’t cry.”
I looked at her and stopped crying.
“I am Ito Kanna, what’s your name?”
“Kanna, we have to go.” A lady appeared beside the girl and led her away.
She turned around and waved. “Please don’t cry anymore!”
On hindsight, I guess with enough time, I would gradually forget about her, even though at that moment in time, to my childish mind, she was like an angel. As it happened, I met her again in grade two of elementary school. She was assigned to sit beside me.
When I was a kid, I used to cry a lot, partly because of what I was going through, and partly because I was often bullied and ostracized due to my looks. I never really belonged; Kanna was my only friend. She was more like an elder sister to me, speaking up for me, telling the other kids off.
The irony was that while I had recognized her from her face and her name, she gave no sign of having remembered ever meeting me at that playground. Somehow, I chose not to bring it up.
We were classmates for the rest of elementary school, after which, we went our separate ways. On the last day of school, she wrote her address and telephone number on a slip of paper, which I kept in my folder. But we never kept in touch, because on my way home, as I skipped gaily, I ran into some of the kids from school, and they pushed me and emptied my bag. I could only watch in horror as they shook out all the contents of my folder, as the slip of paper Kanna gave to me floated into the canal.
But as fate would have it, I met her again in high school. We weren’t in the same school; she was in some private, all-girls school. But one day, Ichiro told me that he was meeting someone, and would like me to come along. I suspected that it was a girl.
Even though Ichiro and I are best friends, we are very different. For one, he excelled in his studies, while I barely scraped through. He was on the baseball team while I was on the football team. He was methodical, while I was careless. He seldom talked to girls and always rejected them; actually, I was often the one who had to go up to those poor girls and tell them, ‘Sorry, but Kenichi is not free this weekend(again).’ Whereas my foreign looks had been a bane in elementary school, I suddenly found myself popular among the girls in high school, which I suspected was due in part to my exotic looks, and in part to my easy-going manner. In contrast to Ichiro, I had many girlfriends.
I had come a long way from an introverted child struggling to cope with the cruel joke God played on him to a confident teenager. That day, I had told myself that from that point on, I was going to be strong, because Kanna wasn’t going to be there to take care of me any longer.
I was certainly shocked to see Kanna. Yet again, she showed no sign of recognition. Again, I decided not to try to invoke her memory. Nevertheless, we clicked. From that day onwards, the three of us often hung out together.
To me, those were the happiest days of my life.
***
Kanna
“Hey Kanna! Aren’t you going to join us for lunch?”
“Nah,” I shook my head. “I have something on…”
“A date?”
I narrowed my eyes and we both laughed.
“What about afternoon’s practice?”
I put my finger on my lips and winked.
She shook her head in mock disapproval.
I started to break into a run. I was running late. True enough, when I reached the station, he was already there.
“I am sorry I am late!” I was still trying to catch my breath.
He laughed. “I guess we are even now?”
“What is it that you have in there?”
“You will know later. Where are we going?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Somewhere where we can sit down, talk and watch the world pass?”
“A café?”
He shook his head.
“Hmmm how about the Imperial Gardens? It’s just over there.”
“Sounds good.”
And so, we made our way there. We found a bench and sat down.
“So what’s in there?”
He handed me the paper bag.
I peered into it. I turned to look at him.
“That’s Kanna,” he said pointedly.
I broke into a wide grin. “I am going to try it… Oh, it’s really very nice. Have you tried it? Here…”
To be frank, Kanna was so much better than any of the other pastries I had ever tried, even his master’s specialty.
Ichiro was finally realizing his dream of becoming a pastry chef. I was happy for him, because it hadn’t been easy.
When we were in our last year of high school, Ichiro announced that he wanted to be a pastry chef. I dropped the plastic mug in my hand. He said he was serious. Ken gave him his full support. I looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes.
One night, Ichiro called me. He had somehow ended up in my area. I met him at the park in my neighbourhood. He had been crying.
That day, his homeroom teacher had talked to him about his future, as he had done with all his other students. He was shocked that instead of considering Todai, Waseda, Keio or even Hyogo, Ichiro wanted to be a pastry chef. His teacher must have gotten in touch with Ichiro’s parents, because when Ichiro reached home that day, they were waiting. His father and him had a big fight.
“If you want to pursue your so-called ‘dream’, fine. Get out of my house and don’t come back.” Ichiro said. “Those were his words.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“People tell me I can reach for the stars, I can achieve anything I want. I am just trying to do that. I don’t want to be a lawyer, doctor, scientist or whatever. That’s what they want. I know what I want.”
When Ichiro spoke like that, it was a little scary, because he was so filled with emotion, speaking with such force. But underneath that, there was his vulnerability.
“Is it wrong to want something else?”
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