So the weirdest thing happened last night at my town’s summer festival.
I got a mail from a stranger, wanting to meet up for the annual summer festival as it’s been a while, apparently.
Great! No problems there.
If only I could remember who it was.
I quickly agree to meet up, followed by radio silence for the rest of the day.
Maybe it was a wrong number.
Or a murderer.
For the whole afternoon I was wracking my brains trying to figure out who this person was and where or even if I had met them before.
After all, it’s only been a year since I came to Japan.
Was it during a drunken pub crawl during my first few days here?
A girl that I flirted with at a bar?
A boy who I thought was a girl that I flirted with at a bar?
An old lady I met in the supermarket?
All of the above?
Anyway, fast forward to festival day. We finally meet up and, well, it’s a girl. But which girl?!
We talked in a mixture of English and Japanese before grabbing something to eat. After securing some takoyaki, she spurts “Gross! Not as delicious at that time we made gyouza, right?”
I remember you!
You’re gyouza girl! I blurted out, trying hard not to spit my tiny balls of fried octopus all over her.
Gyouza girl was one of the many people I met while taking part in a Chinese culture festival last year.
She really likes gyouza.
Like, a lot.
We chatted some more and turns out she won’t be staying here for another year.
I hope it wasn’t because of the nickname I gave her.