Trying to stay upbeat about my own little universe here, but all I can think of is ume blossoms, and wet ruined things, broken hearts, smashed bento boxes and love letters obliterated. And to add insult to injury, irradiated. It seems like such a messy, sloppy, indiscriminate obliteration for such a disciplined, respectful, and orderly country.
My stomach is in knots over it. I can't sleep. I keep waiting for Mothra to emerge from the sea and bring it all back to the way it was with a flap of his enormous dusty wings.
Meanwhile, I prepare for the NYC Teen Author Festival with butterflies in my stomach. But all I can think of is the young Japanese writer whose first novel was about to come out in late summer but now won't. And I want to stop thinking about it but I can't. And the images keep coming, and the numbers racking up.
I always wanted to visit Japan.