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Gyouza Girl


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.

Oh well.


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?!

From where?!

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.

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