Thanks to simplified biological diagrams, a lack of experience of in situ viscera, and a general naivety, I had previously thought of the oesophagus as a clear drop to the stomach, like a stone well to some distant cavern below. It wasn’t until an unwelcome object needed to make the journey through my digestion that I came to realise how ludicrous this image was.
One day Nakano-sensei asked which of the elementary schools is my favourite, and it’s possible that I answered a little too quickly with “Matsuyama.”
‘Language barrier’ is a phrase well-worn to the point of being threadbare, but it is not until one has experienced the communicative rampart that the barrier in question seems less like a linguistic picket fence and more of a socially impenetrable stone barrack.
As an occupation, teaching can take you to soaring heights of euphoria and hell-belly lows of stress and frustration.
Coming to the realisation that my plan was considerably flawed, I eventually decided to walk to the station, hoping that should anyone be attempting to find me, a bedraggled Caucasian by the roadside would be noticeable enough.
The bastard thing about insomnia is that one begins upon the pretentious descent into philosophy, as the silence offers only a resounding echo on the nature of existence.
They informed me I was forbidden from marrying a Japanese man and settling permanently in Japan, which was sweet, although they added that given my ‘luck’ in the UK, their concerns were minor.
"When you were little, the first day after the holidays was really rainy and you claimed the sky was crying because you had to go back to school. Today the sky is crying because you're going to Japan."
It is 8:30am on Tuesday and I am in my local general practitioners, waiting for my 8:10am appointment.