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I ask you to keep what you are about to read andhear to yourself since it's regarding an illegalactivity I was once engaged in.
Until I was about 16 years old, my parents, myyounger sister and I had visited my grandparents'home every year during the New Years.
Limited for that time of the year, a quietcountryside house of my grandparents would turninto a family casino.
It consisted of three different areas.
In the card game area, which was the living room,a card game called kaba that is similar to blackjack would be played.
In the coin game area, which was my grandparents'room, would be for a game called mortar roller.
And the brick area, which was the dining room,would be for those who didn't like gambling or whoneeded food and drink.
It would be open for 24 hours but only the familymembers could play.
The coin game was organized by my grandmother.
She set up a huge china mortar for sesame on thetatami floor and the players would sit around iton the floor.
They would take turns and roll a 10 yen coin,which is worth about 10 cents, inside the mortar.
The coin rolled along the side of the roundmortar, descending gradually toward the bottom.
If it landed on other coins at the bottom, theplayer could get them.
Although the game was simple, we would be absorbedin playing and our heads and eyes were rollingwith the coin above the mortar.
My cousin was good at it with her own devisedtechnique to throw in a coin.
I would also win snugly with my fixation on money.
Beside the excited circle, my grandfather and myfather, who were not interested in gambling, wouldtalk over Japanese tea that my grandfather wouldmake.
My grandmother would start fretting after midnightand tell us to be quiet because she had believedthat the military policemen could bust in with bayonets.
We laughed at her anachronism while seeing her tryto meet the mortar and still live the World War IIera.
She upgraded the mortar one year by putting around piece of cardboard near the bottom.
The mortar's floor was raised and became wider andflatter so that it was harder to make the coin lieon top of the other.
More coins to take would be left at the bottom andthe game got more exciting.
Those were such fond memories, and I can stillhear the sound of a rolling coin inside a mortarduring New Year's.
Later on, the joyful grandparent's house wasburned down by my grandmother's carelessness witha candle.
It's gone forever.
Audiobook, Japanese Dream by Hitomi Woods on saleat online stores or apps.
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It's about a strange sister I encountered back inmy school days.
Since I became the class clown at school, I wasquite popular back then, not only among thestudents but also among the teachers.
When I needed to see a teacher at the hallway infront of the teacher's office, other teacherswould come out of the office to talk with me.
They would stand in a circle around me and laughat my jokes and stories.
Inevitably, it was always noisy wherever I showedup.
The vice principal was a stern, rigid teachercalled Sister Mari Stella.
She was the oldest sister at school and dressed ina traditional, old-fashioned Catholic gown.
She was strict to students and teachers alike.
Everybody tried to keep away from her because shealways reproved someone for something.
She would appear wherever people were buzzing toshut them up.
She had recognized that I was often a seismiccenter of the buzz and given me a look of youagain.
Every time the teachers were cracking up with mein front of the teacher's office, she poked herlong-veiled head out of the office.
That was a signal for the end of the show.
Teachers would disperse quickly while I stoppedtalking.
Sometimes we failed to notice her and she stoodbehind the circle listening to me.
The moment someone spotted her, they would walkaway.
In those cases, she would ask me what I wastalking about.
I would apologize and leave.
And one thought occurred to me.
She didn't come out to reprove us.
She might want to join us.
Even after I realized that, I had no way to keeptalking once other teachers ran away.
As a result, we just kept leaving when she cameup.
And one day, when we were scattering at the sightof her as usual, she grabbed my arm.
She said to me,
That's it.
You hate me, don't you?
I know you hate me.
I know, because I hate you too.
Over her shoulder was a statue of the Virgin Marywith a plaque saying Love and Humanity.
It was the most inconsistent scene I had everexperienced.
Months later, there came a general school cleaningday.
I was unlucky enough to be assigned to the schoolcafeteria of which Sister Mari Stella took charge.
As if she got a golden opportunity, she made aslave of me.
She chose the dirtiest floor just for me and mademe crawl the clean up thoroughly, yelling notenough.
Do it over.
Repeatedly.
I felt her revenge so strongly.
Given the hatred and now the revenge, I deepenedthe mystery of Catholic Sisters.
Audiobook, Japanese Dream by Hitomi Woods on saleat online stores or apps.
Apple, Audible, Google Play, Nook Audiobooks, 43available distributors in total.
06:03
It's about my betrayal against Sister Judith atjunior high.
As all the people around me profess Buddhism andShintoism,
I had never been exposed to Christianity until Ientered junior high school.
The junior high I attended was a private Catholicconvent school and most teachers were nuns.
Since I had never had any contact with nunsbefore, they were nothing but mysterious to me.
They lived together in a convent next to theschool and wore a veil.
They were called like Sister Catherine or SisterPatricia although they were Japanese.
Until I got used to them, I had always wonderedabout the small basics.
Do they have an ordinary Japanese name?
Do they really stay single for life?
Are they bold under a veil?
Yes, yes, and no, I gradually learned the answers.
I had studied English quite hard to catch up withother students who came from the same convent'selementary school that gave them a head start inEnglish education.
One teacher, called Sister Judith, happened toknow that and kindly found a pen pal for me.
While students mostly didn't like sisters, she wasan exception.
She was popular because she was friendly andbeautiful.
Students also respected her since she graduatedfrom one of the most renowned universities inJapan and is the smartest sister at school.
The school had the very rigid rules for uniform.
If an irregular bag was spotted, it would beconfiscated.
I carried my personal small bag into school oneday in addition to the big uniform bag and SisterJudith caught me.
She said she had the confiscated and I begged hernot to.
I promised her I wouldn't use it for school everagain.
She decided to overlook my breach for once out ofconsideration for my emotional plea.
As a stupid teenager, I was defiant to pretty mucheverything.
I believed nothing good existed in this world.
So I took my irregular bag out of my uniform bagagain as soon as I passed through the school gateafter school that day.
I was walking toward the bus stop with the bagdangling.
Someone called out my name from behind.
It was Sister Judith.
She didn't return to the convent as usual and leftfor an errand on that particular day.
She didn't confiscate my bag, though.
Instead, she was crying.
I trusted you and that was why I let you go.
But you betrayed my trust.
I'm bitterly disappointed in you, she said quietlyand walked away.
I felt it was much better that she yelled at meand took away my bag.
Audiobook, Japanese Dream by Hitomi Woods on saleat online stores or apps.
Apple, Audible, Google Play, Nook Audiobooks, 43available distributors in total.
I report the true culprit of my skin trouble.
From January of last year to October, I'd hadterrible skin trouble on my face.
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I had eczema mainly on my cheeks that were itchyand peeling.
The condition was too bad to be covered up withmakeup and I was in a mess.
Since I'd never had that kind of problem before,
I couldn't figure out the cause.
Eventually I attributed it to an allergy to basilpasta sauce.
But I recently ascertained the true culprit andneed to clear the basil sauce's name.
My apartment building has a spa which fee isincluded in the monthly maintenance fee from theresident.
The privilege of using it with no holds barred andthe fact I'm cheap send me to the spa everymorning and evening.
Not using it is a big waste of money for me.
At the spa, a hot tub, a jacuzzi, a sauna and acold water tub are regularly available.
And during the busy times such as the summerholidays and the winter skiing season, an extrahot tub is operated.
When I looked for the solution for my skintrouble, I tried everything including shorteningmy spa time a little.
After the trouble went away in October, it reappeared as soon as I started taking an extra hot tubat the spa in December.
The cause wasn't the basil sauce.
I took a bath too much and too long every day.
Sweating too excessively and having too muchmetabolism seemed to cause skin trouble.
I knew moderation in all things, but had neverknown it was also true for a spa and metabolism.
I thought they were good for health and the morethe better.
I've read or heard everywhere that metabolism isessential to health, and had never thought it alsorequired moderation.
It amounts to this, that I was too healthy.
I reduced time and the frequency for the spadrastically and my skin trouble quicklydisappeared.
The free spa was my favorite relaxation.
Now spending less time at the spa every day, Ifeel as if I leave an all-you-can-eat buffet afteronly a few bites each time.
My good old days of sweating in a sauna as much asI want and relaxing in a jacuzzi as long as I wantare over.
And to make matters worse, now that I'm carefulnot to sweat too much, I've gained a few pounds.
Audiobook, Japanese Dream by Hitomi Woods on saleat online stores or apps.
Apple, Audible, Google Play, Nook Audiobooks, 43available distributors in total.
