Ad meliora.

Recently, work has been overwhelming… I work in my scientific field as a Project Manager and help investigators with commercializing their innovations. This often means that I am often sourcing regulatory, manufacturing, and commercial development partners to potentially fund or provide insights on de-risking new drug therapies…

Given the current US landscape for science, I am often meeting with three or four external groups to help with these milestones - meaning by the end of the week my social battery and brain capacity are drained.

Her transformation no longer feels part of the plot device, but rather a reflection on womanhood: self-perception, and the ways we grow into ourselves over time. As Sophie appears older, she becomes more confident—speaking more plainly, acting with intention, and caring less about how others perceive her.

A decade ago, I experienced it as a fantasy adventure. Watching it now, it feels much more like a story about identity and the process of becoming who you are. It’s interesting how certain stories evolve as you grow older.

In the dark abyss, the mushrooms shimmer, connected by waves of energy that carry memories across the sediment and ruin. While they have heard the winds whisper of dark terrors beyond their solitary confinement, they know the truth— everything will decay into their nourishment and become part of their living web.

These currents drew him in. He could feel it, the energy— it weaved in ways he needed to understand, full of power.

He submitted to the whispers of energy that stretched towards him…fingers flattening on the ground, digging his nails into the earth.

“Everything becomes me.” They sighed.

He listened, trembling as the warmth of their energy penetrated into his very core and allowed the memores of the past to wash over him.

Luncheon, Afternoon Tea, Dinner and finally Supper

My partner is very much into the Middle-Earth Lore, and it’s a shared source of fun for us—fantasy, culture, and escaping into imagined worlds. Though our interests are similar, we express our affections for these realms in different ways: he journeys through them with dice, keyboards, and quests, while I prefer to wander them in books, drawings, and half-formed stories. It feels like we are exploring the same map using different paths, meeting often in laughter along the way.

Another passion we both have is food.

For Christmas 2024, I surprised him with “Recipes from the World of Tolkien” and we have explored the dishes over the seasons (this recipe is perfect accompanied by a pot of hot coffee). Our favorite recipe is The Brandywine Fish Pie.

This past Christmas, I gifted him “Salt Acid Fat Heat”, by Samin Nosrat (when boiling water for pasta or vegetables, it should be salted until it tastes like the sea).

He recently mentioned that he needed to purchase a bookmark to keep track of his progress in these and other books…

Shinagawa, Tokyo, Japan

June 19, 1946

1428:14 PM

“Sota! Hurry up, your friends are here to walk to school with you. And don’t forget your textbooks this time!” 

Kagome uses her free hand to hold open the bamboo screen, the other holds tight to her futon-tender, a long bamboo stick with intricate loops at one end. Behind her, three students entertain one another with conversation. Her blue eyes turn back to them and inform of her younger brother's descent. She hears behind the curtain Sota’s loud footfalls as he approaches the entrance. 

“I don’t know why I have to go— it would be more helpful if I worked in the fields with Mama and jii-chan.”

A lanky dark-haired young man pushes up the curtain. His bangs usually pushed to the right, are greased back in a professional manner. A frown sets on his face as he speaks to his sister. 

Kagome glares at him, placing her hands defiant on her hips. The stick almost knocks into him and he is forced to take a step back. He stands a head taller than her, but this doesn’t daunt her one bit. 

“Absolutely not! You are to go to school every—single—day and finish. Education is so important these days! Do you know how hard Mama and I work to make sure you graduate?” Kagome jabs a finger in his chest as she punctuates her words. His friends chuckle as she lectures him. 

Her words rang true though— there was so much at stake, and Sota could have a future she would never have. A formal education, the opportunity to study abroad, a life full of happiness and prosperity. 

If only he would stop forgetting his textbooks at home!

“Go on now— did you grab the book as I said?” This time, Kagome is pointing the bamboo stick at him. He holds up a faded hardcover volume clutched in one hand. 

Sota rolls his eyes as he moves past his older sister. He falters a moment and glances over his shoulder. Shadows cast over honey-brown eyes. “Don’t work too hard today, nee-chan. You look like you need sleep.” 

Sucking in a deep breath, Kagome’s lips twist down. She turns back to the wooden drainboard. 

The heaviness of the last few years weighs upon her. She has been in a state of perpetual exhaustion. When was the last time she even had a restful night of sleep? There had been so many years sowed with anguish.

With the brunt of her strength, Kagome begins to dust out the thick futon slung over the drainboard.

It started with the death of her father in the uprisings of 1935. 

She remembers how her mother fainted upon hearing the news. Within a few short months, Mama who was once so full of life and vigor withdrew into herself. Soon she was so thin that Kagome feared that any embrace would snap her in half. In the wake of her fathers death, and the brief time of her mothers depression, Kagome took it upon herself to help out as a farm tenant in the afternoons.

Then in 1940 Japan entered into the Tripartite Pact.

That year was especially difficult. The country had already been barren with food shortages. The rice rations happened not only in the mainland but beyond to the colonies in Korea and in parts of China. Upon entering the treaty, pre-war efforts put a strain on the communities already struggling. This also meant their borders would be forever closed to their friends in the West, who still funneled resources into their economy. Likewise, it was the year she decided to leave school to work full-time alongside her grandfather and mother as sharecropper, concluding a chapter in her life. 

The sun begins its ascent above her with nary a cloud shielding its bright beauty. Sweat beads on Kagome’s forehead and she takes a moment to fan herself cool. A thin haze of dust surrounds her like a fine mist. One could almost compare it to the fog created on a humid day in the winter season.

Kagome brandishes her arm to dissipate the cloud but is unsuccessful; tasuki ties back her yukata sleeves, the knot pressed between her shoulder and axilla. Suddenly she hears the reverberating sound of a car backfiring. An angry squeal and a holler sound in the distance. 

Raising her free hand above her eyebrow as a visor Kagome peers down the road. The distinctive shape of a utility vehicle, its blue-green paint reflecting the sun, is parked down the street. The American flag hangs off the right side of the vehicle. She could make out the shape of a military man behind the wheel of the car, seeming to throw his hands up in frustration. Pursing her lips, Kagome returns back to the futon, continuing her previous exertion.

At the beginning of the 1941 winter, Japan declared war on their American friends. 

Kagome was fearful that her mother, who had not yet turned forty, would be called into service. Her grandfather, on the other hand, had lucked out of service. He had turned sixty-two that year; he held his head high and spoke proudly of joining the war efforts, had he been in better health and allowed to.

Through the next few years, as men were conscripted into the war, they were able to make a meager living as farmland tenants. Under the laws at the time, their landlord acquired the majority of their harvest, which was subsidized to be sent to the military. Despite the fact that the price for the sale of rice rose, their labor wagers did not reflect those changes. What scanty income they did make, Kagome always made sure to put away money for Sota’s schooling.

“Higurashi-san.”

The previous year, 1945, was the worse though. 

In March, the bombings started. Her mother and grandfather thankfully had been outside the city edges at that time. Her grandfather had terrible pains and neighbors recommended a foreign doctor, way out in the countryside. It was a day walk away and even by carriage took several hours. 

“Higurashi-san.”

Sota had been on the other side of the city. He was staying with a friend for the evening to work on extra coursework.

Unlike her mother, her grandfather, or even her brother, Kagome hadn’t been so fortunate. She had finished selling the last of their shared crops in the towns center when the first bomb struck. Although not at the epicenter, the fire that sprouted in the aftermath could have killed her. 

She was luckier than most with minor physical scars. As long as she wore her kimono sleeves down, no one was the wiser. 

“Higurashi-san!”

Chest heaving, Kagome turns to the voice calling out to her. Tears threaten to spill but she holds well not to allow it so. Her neighbor, Okamoto-san, stands in front of her. Next to her is the man that she immediately recognizes as the Nisei Officer. Although he wasn’t the only Nisei on the island, he was the only one holding a rank higher than most. He was so well-known that his prominence neared that of  Marshall MacArthur. 

He stands several feet above her and is so tall that she actually needs to tilt her head back and still, she only catches the bottom of his chin. It makes her realize how close he stands and takes a step back.

“Hello.” She speaks softly and casts her eyes downward. As she does so, she swipes away the tears from her eyes. When she glances back up amber eyes focus not on her face but on her arm. She feels a hot shame overcome her and loosens the knot at her shoulder. The straps loosen and as she covers the red welts that wrap around her forearm.

“May I help you?” She speaks slow, trying her best to pronounce the words in English correctly. The words form shapes her mouth does not often make, movements foreign to her tongue. Amber eyes train themselves back on blue, and a quiet contemplation swims behind the gaze. The officer is as surprised by her shame as he is by her words.

“Do you speak English?” The words come out in a quick burst. It takes Kagome a moment to roll the words back and forth in her head as she attempts to translate them. 

“I know only a bit of English.” She gestures with her forefinger and thumb.

The man drums his fingers across his clipboard, a frown written across his lips. His eyes are staring down at the list before him. They flick back up to her and then down again. 

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” He asks, eyes trained downward. One hand tightens around a pen that begins to tap with impatience against the side of the rigid board. Before she has a chance to give a response though, he sighs with exasperation.

“Is there an adult here? Perhaps I can speak to your father?” He questions instead. And then he peers behind her at the small hovel, with its thatched roof and missing doorframe. It takes all of Kagome’s willpower not to slap him across the head with her stick. 

“My English is not so good, do you speak Japanese?” She says instead, this time in her native language. She allows the switch of language to buffer her anger. “Is there something I can help you with?”

He nods, finally glancing at her. The sun shines against his eyes and amber irises glow gold. It also highlights the speckles of silver in his blond hair. The officer is a handsome man with a strong jawline and a straight nose. His skin is tanned and  standing close she sees freckles smear across the bridge of his nose. His hair is combed over to one side on top while the sides taper off around his ear and neck.

“I am Lieutenant no Taisho, with the Committee for Land Reform. I have documents that your family is registered to take over as new owners for this hectare? It states that the previous owner was one…Akitoki Yuji.” He is all business now and unblinking. 

The name pulls at her heart and she quickly squashes the memories.

“We need to make sure that all the paperwork has been properly put together. In addition, it is important for us to understand if your family will be working farm landowners or non-working farm landowners. We also need to know how many hectares of farmland you will be leasing and the financial aspects of the payment conditions need to be evaluated.” Lieutenant no Taisho explains in Japanese. It is so clear, and his accent is perfect, she could have mistaken him for a native-born man. His words, however, cut through her like a knife in water. 

 She stands unmoving for several moments, thinking at the list of responsibilities she suddenly has. It reminds her of the continued situation that she, and her family, found themselves in the wake of a post-war society, grappling with aspects of the economy they had never had to worry about before.

Azabu, Tokyo, Japan

April 17. 1910

Our family has prospered for many generations under the bakufu, but at what cost? As the last of the cherry blossom petals fall from the sky, it reminds me of the renewal of our Empire. The great Goisshin and end of sakoku!

Under Emperor Meiji, Nippon has had wealth of heights never before seen. By opening the ports to our friends in the West it helped create prosperity all over our great Empire. The shoguns of the past have suffered the most under this new system. Chichi-ue is insistent on trades and negotiation and refuses to accept modernization.

I do not think chichi-ue would be most fond if he learned of the literature that has been brought into the Gakushujo. The periodicals with girls of skin equally as pale and their hair. Eyes the color of the sea. The books on the theories of public affairs, leadership, and governing of people. The stories of fields upon fields that are not green: a sea of yellow, a sky of pure blue. Where rice is not a national identity.

The older girls talk of attending to the study-abroad program in the United States of America. I fear the day upon which Ozawa-sensei asks chichi-ue for permission to send me upon that journey.

It’s not that I do not wish to join my friends in this voyage: to see a world beyond the coasts of Nippon; to meet those that do not speak my language; to eat foods that I am unfamiliar with. These are experiences I wish most to attend.  

Chichi-ue has other plans for my life. He has arranged for me to meet a man, the son of someone he worked with many years ago. Haha-ue has been most opposed to those plans. She wishes for me to finish my education and continue my studies in the theory of public affairs. Haha-ue has not been able to stop chichi-ue’s decision for me to attend the omiai though. I realize she will not be able to stop him when he withdraws me from school.

We have fallen on hard times. Chichi-ue has taken the last of his fathers' paintings to sell. Next will be haha-ue’s uchikake and then my kimonos. I expect soon, we will sell the house. This is why he has arranged the omiai. I have not yet laid my eyes upon my future betrothed, but I know of his name: Setsuna no Takemaru. I am told he is a handsome man. A prosperous man. It is said that of his past grandfathers served as a samurai under Nobunaga Oda himself. He is a man worthy of marriage according to chichi-ue.

Is this truly the life I wish to live? Am I to be traded off like cattle and prepared for slaughter?

Shinagawa, Tokyo, Japan

June 19, 1946

1309:28 PM

Inuyasha continues to tap his pen impatiently against the clipboard, silent. A film of dirt clings to her skin but it does not hide the color that drains from her face. Blue eyes stare up at him in unquestionable horror. 

She must have a Western relative, to have eyes as piercing blue as hers are. 

“Do you have that information now?” He asks again in Japanese as he waits for a response. Amber eyes look back down to his clipboard, eyeing the number of names that follow “Higurashi”. There was five other families on the list with whom he needed to speak to regarding land ownership. 

Just before the end of the war, landholding kept a noose on those tenants that sought to earn an income. Should a tenant want to work on a landowners farm, it was required to give up all crops but that required for a family of a certain number to survive— and sometimes, less than. As rice grew in cost all over the country, landholders became very rich. That was not trickled down to those that worked the fields however, and the income gap increased with each passing season. Major land reforms helped bring equal distributions to those in a rural society. 

In the wake of the war, instated programs by the United States helped dismantle large plantations into individual plots, sold dirt cheap. It helped to collectively allow more peasant farmers to own their own land and strengthen the growth of the agricultural business through diversifying crops. 

“I’m sorry but my grandfather has that information secured. He is in the fields with Mama though, I won’t be able to get it right now…” His eyes snap back to her face as she speaks again. 

“Okay, I would like you to take this…” Inuyasha shuffles through his papers until he finds the sheet of interest. He scribbles down an address first in English, on instinct, before recalling the situation. He scratches out the direction before re-writing the location in simplified kanji. He turns the clipboard in her direction.

“This is the location of my office.” Inuyasha circles the written address. “You will need to call the office to make an appointment first; here is the phone number.” He taps the right hand side of the page with his pen several times before underlining it. He practically rips the sheet from out of the clip board and thrusts it in her hands. As he does so, he notices a resolve settle in her eyes.

“I will do it.” She says simply. 

And then. 

“Are we done?” 

He raises a thick eyebrow, surprised by the sudden dismissal. It is unusual for such occurrences— often, he was forced to bend himself time and time again in their manners and gestures. It was exhausting for him as he tried to learn and understand the culture. Especially as many of the islanders expected him to have already understood it. 

Although an Issei, an immigrant-born Japanese-American, to his knowledge his mother never practiced any her Japanese culture. She only spoke Japanese in the house and was insistent that he only speak it with her and in the confines of their home. It was not until her passing that he realized how much memorabilia she had  safeguarded, even from him.

His mother was an enigma he would never fully understand. 

This country was equally a conundrum he found himself thrust into. 

A hand waves in front of his face.

“Are you okay?” A look of concern flashes across her face, eyebrows knit together and mouth pursed in confusion. 

Inuyasha frowns and practically glares at her, as if she were at fault for his situation. 

“Just remember to call and make an appointment. You will lose your land if you do not complete this in a timely manner.” He points to the sheet of paper before turning on his heel and storming away.