I  would also like to add that I am not romanticizing any of the above, and there will be nothing of the sort in this book. It is not intended to be titillating, but rather terrifying.

Thank you for your attention.

***

It was slowly getting dark outside.

On the news, they kept reporting about the extreme heat that would soon visit us, making it harder to hide even under our own shadow, let alone any other.

I was seven years old and sitting at a small table in a studio apartment located next to a train station.

From the kitchen, I could smell the unbearable odor of food I didn't like. I couldn't complain though, because I knew that other people would give anything for even a piece of what I had.

Mom brought dinner for both of us. For dinner, there was rice with chicken — I wasn't fond of the dish, although we had been eating it every day ever since Mom became obsessed with Asian cuisine.

"In China, this could be called chao-fan, meaning fried rice with meat, but I also found another name — niu rou fan, which means rice with beef," Mom said, reading from a guidebook.

"Which one is tastier?" I asked.

Mom pointed to the chao fan.

"I'm not a big fan of beef; rice with chicken tastes better even flavor-wise.

Beef is stronger and a bit sweeter compared to chicken. Though it has a lot of advantages — it has more iron, which I personally miss," she said, flipping to the next page of the guidebook, where her eyes landed on Qipao.

A tight, silk dress in a deep red color. It was decorated with delicate embroidery of golden flowers. The fabric hugged the silhouette softly, and a high slit on the side gracefully revealed the thigh with every step. The collar reached up to the chin, and small silk-loop buttons ran diagonally across the shoulder.

"Look, this is a Qipao."

"What's that?"

I brought the guidebook closer. My eyes landed on the dress. It looked very lavish and elegant, probably worn for special occasions.

Before I knew it, she was already holding a second guidebook, this time about Japan.

"Mom…" I started — "How do you say rice with beef in Japanese?"

She tore her eyes away from the book. The corners of her lips lifted as if she were proud that I asked.

"Let me think... Gyūdon. And why are you asking?"

I looked at her with no expression on my face.

"I'm curious."

"Do you want to ask anything else?"

Interesting. I lifted my hand to my chin, pretending comically as if I was really thinking, although from the start I already knew what I wanted to ask.

"How do you say 'I like rice with beef' in Japanese?"

Mom was stunned for a second. She mimicked me, but in an even more exaggerated, funny way. I laughed.

"Gyuuniku gohan suki."

"Gyuuniku gohan suki,"

I repeated after Mom.

Once again, I laughed, showing everything I had in my mouth.

"Don't laugh while you're eating."

"Why?"

"It's rude. Remember that."

I will remember it for years to come.

After eating, we lay down in bed and fell asleep.

Back then I didn't even think about what would happen in my future.