In my twenty-three years of living in the Philippines, almost everyone who was ever nice to me either wanted to sell me something, or say ‘Ohayo gozaimasu! Ogenki?’

Yuko, my mother.

On people in the gym trying to speak Japanese to her.

I was in the Deli buying groceries when I saw a tiny old woman pushing a shopping cart. In one of her hands she held a grocery list, and I couldn’t help seeing that there was a lot in that list. She looked so helpless, frail and alone. As she got close to me, I ventured to take a look in the woman’s cart.

There was nothing in it except a sixpack of Asahi Beer.

Yuko, my mother.

Original conversation in Japanese