Every year when the cicadas start to sing, I miss Japan dearly, as if a part of myself had been buried under the Minami Ishigaki park, where we hung out by the swings, singing, and smoking.
This summer, as the cicadas are singing again, I invited Cao Mieu to join me in a conversation about our Japanese memoirs. But instead of texts, we would reply to each other with artworks. Every page is a response to the previous. All communication takes place only within these pages.
I lost my residence card years ago. Mieu still has hers, so she will hereby board the page first.
Nhan Phan, Cao Mieu,
and all the lovely people of Beppu.