Tadaima
There are certain things that stick in my mind from my time as an exchange student. One of those is the routine of coming home each day from school. It was a bit different from what I was used to in Illinois. No school bus dropping you off conveniently a block from your door. First, there was the long walk down the steep slope from the high school, admittedly easier than trudging up it every morning. That was followed by finding the correct city bus that would take me to the stop nearest my host family's house. Then, there was still more than a quarter mile of road to walk up through the neighborhood to arrive home again. This was all in the oppresively hot and humid rainy season, all in heavy layers of navy blue school uniform, often in drenching rain. At last, I would slide open the front door, step into the dry and inviting genkan, change into house slippers and call out "tadaima," announcing that I was home again. Okaasan (Mom...