Some mornings I wake up in a Japanese mood.
I inexplicably find myself thinking and texting in Japanese, which has been known to confuse a recipient or two. On these days I crave soba noodles, sushi, okonomiyaki (Japanese pancakes) and drink green tea. Then, on other mornings I may wake up in a Greek mood.
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“If my son has the opportunity to interact with young people from other cultures, he’ll learn they’re just the same as him,” said the mother.
As a result, that young boy is growing up with an open mind and acceptance of other people, so by the time he’s an adult he won’t see the sense of warfare against people he considers friends, despite their colour, race or religion. “It’s one way of helping to end wars in future,” she said. There’s nothing quite like the look and feel of a freshly cleaned floor.
Infinitely more satisfying, however, is the clarity that comes with having clean windows, which really do make the outside world look brighter. Now, I’m not a big fan of housework and I can tolerate medium levels of untidiness, but deep down I really like having a clean home. “But how,” I asked, waving the user manual, “do I create a customer account on the new system?”
I threw the page into the bin and decided to write my own instructions. What’s the point of reading a page full of text if it doesn’t tell you how to actually use the software? I hate reading complicated instructions. I learn better if you show me how to set up the DVD player or use a new computer program. I’ve been using the word shush a lot, lately.
It’s regularly interspersed with please don’t talk all at once and an exasperated plea to stop talking! I’ve even resorted to bell ringing in a futile effort to silence the group of teenagers babbling simultaneously at high volume. They still ignore me, though. Since childhood, I’ve often wondered how I ended up in my family.
I noticed early on that I didn’t fit in and was astonished to realise I had nothing in common with them, apart from the birth thing. Now, I’m pretty certain I wasn’t adopted. First of all, Greeks aren’t the adopting type; and second, my relatives constantly remind me that I look like and carry not only my paternal grandmother’s name, but also her personality traits. “He’s a bit of a tough cookie.”
I ignored the comment and maintained the required silence. “So what are you writing?” I shook my head and slid along the wooden bench. I didn’t want the judge castigating me for contempt of court. “Err… don’t you have any warmer clothes?”
The pair of tourists looked at me in confusion. “It’s freezing outside,” I said, indicating my coat, boots, scarf and gloves. “But we only brought summer clothes.” |
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December 2019
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I acknowledge the traditional Custodians of the land on which I work and live, the Gubbi Gubbi / Kabi Kabi and Joondoburri people, and recognise their continuing connection to land, the waters and sky. I pay my respect to them and their cultures; and to Elders past, present and emerging.
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© 2024 HARI KOTROTSIOS
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