Unable to do this, they killed my grandfather instead. My maternal great-grandfather, Ngo Thuc Dinh, was one of the top officials in the pro-Japanese Vietnamese government of World War II, and for this collaboration, he was targeted for assassination by the Communists. In Vietnam, few can stand for more than a few seconds without leaning on something or collapsing into a squat. Everyone else on the platform stood so straight and rigid, I also noticed, as if contrapposto was banned. My first impressions were the generous legroom on the train to Tokyo, sterile apartment buildings somewhat reminiscent of Singapore, subway cars packed with standing, black-suited salarymen then, at Nippori Station, a commanding middle-aged executive, sheathed in an expensive suit, staggering drunk. “Can I possibly die without at least a glimpse of Japan?†I’d ask myself, cringing.įinally, I was there. With a six-hour layover, I inexplicably didn’t leave the airport. The last time I was in Narita was 18 years earlier.
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