Memories in the Labyrinth

Since when has the word 'border' started to occupy my mind? That's I can't tell. But, once in a while, the forgotten memories are suddenly brought back to life in the vaguest fashion, and often out of the context. They come out of nowhere. Out of a labyrinth of time, it seems.

I was born and grew up on a small island, some 400 kilometers east of the Okinawa Island. It was an island of immigrants who had sought a job at the sugar factory owned by a wealthy family from Japan. It was also an island of diasporas. Many islanders had some experience of crossing 'borders' for all sorts of reasons.