A Taste of Home
I sat on the swing set and stared down at my yellow rain boots. The rain disguised my tears and I ignored the sound of the other children laughing around me. It always rains here, I thought to myself. I continued to swing lightly, the swing creaking as I push myself back and forth. Sometime later it occurred that I could no longer hear the other children laughing or the sounds of squishy footsteps from the other students jumping into muddy rain puddles. The school bell must have rung.
The day proceeded as all the other days before it. The teacher who had rosy cheeks and long brown hair began the day with a song that all the other students seemed to know. They spent some time reading aloud and I stared outside watching the raindrops fall slowly off windowsill. Every once in awhile someone calls on me and I sit silently knowing the teacher will call on someone else so I do not have to talk.
Eventually we get to math where I am taken into another room away from my classmates. A man who does not have smiling pink cheeks asks me to sit down. He uses chalk that hurts my ears when he writes equations on the board.
It’s always at this time of the day where I begin to miss my friends and the cherry blossoms nearby that would be in full bloom this time of year.
The day continues on uneventful and dreary. The day lets out and I make my way home. I am suppose to take a big yellow bus home, but I’m not sure which one. My first week here I tried asking a monitor, but she could not understand what I was trying to ask her. My accent was too thick, she had said.
So I walk home in the rain avoiding mud puddles and wondering why we had to leave Japan in the first place.
I walk in the door and a sweet aurora fills my nostrils. I smile to myself for maybe the first time the entire day. I run up to my mother who is wearing a long red skirt with flowers on it. Japanese flowers, I realize looking at it. She misses home too, I think to myself grinning up at her. Suddenly, I feel less alone than I had all day,
“I thought we could use a little pick me up,” she said pouring me a bowl of my favorite soup.
“I just had the hardest day trying to navigate through the city and I couldn’t understand anyone when trying to ask for directions,” she scoops up extra tofu and seaweed in my bowl knowing it’s my favorite. “I can only imagine how hard it must be for you starting a new school where no one understands you either.” She holds out the bowl just out of reach and the smell once again fills the room.
“I just want you to know how proud I am of you,” My mother smiles at me and puts down the creamy bowl of miso soup.
I hadn’t had miso since we left Japan. My mom had said she could not find any kombu to make the broth a few days after we settled when I had asked for it.
Tomorrow, I think to myself, I will practice my English words so I can start reading aloud in class. The clouds part and the sun brightens the entire sky scaring away any trace of gray.
As I take a spoonful of my favorite soup the sun begins to shine from the clouds. Funny how a simple taste of home can make your day brighter.
