I have to hand it to my parents.

They took the language of love to new heights.

Dad is from India:

“Hello how are you, vat?! Radha- you don’t vant to be a doctor?!”

Mom is from Japan:

“Ahhh herro I’m from japan , prease to meet you!”

They raised us in Montreal, Canada where ice storms and black ice were bountiful- arguably the hardest place for an Indian man to survive the cold and a Japanese woman to speak — full stop.

Anyway, as the only kids on the block whose parents served sushi and curry for dinner mostly every night listening to Ravi Sankar and Jon Coltrane on our record player, our house naturally became the hangout for all our friends- the veritable Grand Central station for gatherings and where I first got my taste of confusion.

You see, when you’re half Japanese and half Indian, you’re always hot and always cold. You’re both reserved and have moments of introspection like my Samurai mother and you’re also in your face and all up in your business like my Indian father who was my science fair partner, soccer coach and had louder belly laughs than anyone I knew.

My twin sister, Miki, actually wrote a screen play about them — a true rom com — (romantic comedy) about a man and a woman who fall in love against all odds.

Picture this international hit: He comes to America with 5 dollars in his pocket from Varanasi India that he uses to buy a winter coat from the Salvation Army and she comes to America from the city of Tokyo in Japan with a luggage train of fancy clothes and comfortable means. Neither speak English. Neither have ever met another person of that race and color and their worlds collide when he sees her in the university cafeteria and musters up the courage to go and speak to her.

His opening line (true story): “Excuse me, would you like my meat ticket?”

Would you like my meat ticket?

Since my dad was a vegetarian, his meat ticket became a hot commodity amongst his friends at the cafeteria buffet. But that day, he was going to give it to her.

Well, she refused his meat ticket.

But don’t worry, the story doesn’t end there, he went to the bank and borrowed $50 dollars — yes 50 dollars before his first paycheck kicked in- he couldn’t wait- and asked her out for pizza. My mom loves pizza and agreed.

I can only imagine how that date went:

“So uh, do you like the pizza?”

“Ah yes, so dericious”

“So ver are you from?”

“What is ver? I don’t undastand?”

“You’re from undasand? That’s cool”

I think miki and I both grew up with that same confusion my parents had on that date on how to beare we Japanese are we Indian are we French canadian? What are we?) but somehow made it through life by feeling our way. My parents learned to communicate eventually in English with each other but the underlying language was through unspoken words and looks of understanding.

It’s now 2014 and I think we’re all a little confused. Instead of language barriers and meat tickets, the confusion has come from how do we connect? Tinder and ok Cupid don’t inspire looks of understanding and unspoken words and technology while game changing has also confused connection.

So, since we’re here at Daybreaker without digital divides, I wanted to give you the chance to offer a meat ticket to someone if you so desire.

I’ve brought a spool of meat tickets and they are placed at the exit for you to enjoy.

Arigato, namaste and Merci!