Bright winter sun and icy morning.
The smell of grilled fish assaults me on my way to work.
I close my eyes and I am in the suburbs of Osaka; a good 15 years between now and then.
Mrs. Sano, my Japanese mum has prepared my breakfast and the smell of grilled mackerel is escaping from her small kitchen. This is the breakfast she makes every day with the utmost maternal care.
Mr. Sano, my Japanese dad has already gone to join the long line of salarymen who are slaving away in the smoky industrial suburbs.
Mrs. Sano calls me, “Banessa, Banessa, Ohayou”. I have trouble to extract myself from my fluffy futon, I can barely get out of the closet that serves as a room. Even if my heart has adopted the inhabitants of this wonderful land, my body refuses to comply to living in a doll’s house.
Grilled mackerel? It is Wednesday then. My Japanese mum takes special care to introduce me to all the delights of the fish shop on the corner. “The proteins”, she says, “nothing better to protect us from the winter”.
I am 22 years old and an intern at Korisawa Kogyou Hyakuhin, a pharmaceutical company located in central Osaka, close to the river.
I am dreading the workday which will soon begin. I would give the moon to stay close to Mrs. Sano and her plastic kitchen.
I work with some old disgusting salarymen who constantly ask me to prepare tea to warm their bones.  Their life is behind them, mine is in front of me. Just for that, they hate me. I am female and foreign and I can speak Japanese. They hate me even more.
Mrs. Sano brings me back from my thoughts.
She hands me my bento with all the wonders that she prepared, she hands me my scarf and gloves. She doesn’t kiss me on the nose but it feels like it. She assures me what she will prepare for me tonight a pumpkin soup.
There was a smell of grilled fish this morning on my way to work. Tonight, I will call Mrs. Sano in Osaka and I will tell her about the cold weather in Hong Kong. Maybe she will share with me the secret of her pumpkin soup.