She called to tell me about her day.

Most people write dairy to reflect on their daily life or just simply hit the bed like a yummy mummy. Instead of that, she calls to tell her friends to chew over details of her day like a puppy beagle savoring her first bone. She can be quite garrulous. But I didn't mind. I was just sluggishly editing The Disney Store photos taken in Chicago after all.

She watched Toy Story 3 again with her girlfriends to catch a fun cameo appearance of Totoro, a beloved character from Ghibli Studios. She baked low-fat banana bread which ended up tasting like baby sea lion food. She read through Fumi Saimon’s Tokyo Love Story, with some help from a gigantic cup of ginger cappuccino, in one furious hour.

“Wait a second,” I reminded her. “You don’t speak Japanese though.”

She paused for few seconds and then gave me a lengthy speech about how one can still enjoy reading it without being able to figure out every single hiragana and katakana.

“You see, it’s beyond language barrier.” she said, giggling. “Like being moved to tears when listening to arias in an opera.”

“Wagner? Puccini? Or Fettuccine?” I asked. “Or maybe a space opera by a nameless Martian composer?”

That night, the nameless Martian composer paid me a visit in my dream.

"You! You put my name with Wagner in the same sentence!" He yelled with thick Martian accent, perfectly like an artist with a tortured soul. "How dare you!"