Imaginative writing(650-800)

Goodbye Japan

As soon as the school bell rings, I rush out of the classroom and quickly dash into the busy train station. I
jump off the train direct to the street as fast as I can as the train slows down at my destination. The whole world
can see the word “happiness” written on my face because I can finally go back to Thailand! Since I’ve been tortured
by my parents to study in Japan for 3 months, from now on I can take a deep breath and enjoy the relaxation. No
more Kanji. No more Hiragana. No more Japanese.

“Tadaima!” as I get into the room, I can hear Mina, my Vietnamese roommate. She’s preparing a huge size of
Bento box with a nametag ‘Memie’ on it. Honestly, I personally think that no one could be nicer and more
generous than Mina. She is an angel. Everyone in the dorm agrees with me on this point, without Mina I don’t
think I could have survived in Japan this easily as a 10-year-old kid, she’s the only one who always takes care of me
and treat me like her sister. She has asked me more than a 1,000 times already if I’ve finished packing my luggage
and whether have I checked the flight details carefully yet.

Whilst Mina and I are busily packing my luggage “Ding. Ding. Ding.”. The notification from my phone rings
loudly on the table. As I turn back to look at the screen, the black letter shows up the name I want to avoid the
most and one of the reasons why I came to Japan.

“Mom”

She has sent me details of my flight ticket, however with that low quality screenshot I can only just see a half
of the ticket. Even though I ask her to resend it again, she keeps sending me the same awful screenshot again and
again. I give up. “Don’t worry. It’s probably the Narita Airport!”. Mina says confidently as the majority of other
students went there too. “I’ll write a note for you, you have to take a several trains and buses. It’s very difficult for
you to read the sign anyway”. She gives me a piece of pink sticky note paper with neat handwritten instructions
that show the names of each station: Otsuka, Nippori and Narita Airport. Then Mina tells me to sleep early as
boarding time is around 12 pm.

At 6 AM, as usual I instantly spring out from the bed and wake Mina up. Then we eat some bread and milk,
clean dishes and take a shower, our daily routine, in spite the fact that this is my last day. No matter how big the
rd
baggage is, we carry luggage silently from the 3 floor down to front the door since our neighbors are still sleep
and having their pleasant dreams. When we arrive at the station, Mina suddenly jumps and hugs me tightly, so
tightly that I could barely breathe. After 3 minutes, she sends me off at the ticket gate. “I’ll miss you every, every,
every single day when you’ve gone, Memie! Do not forget to eat the Bento and read my not--”. Before she could
finish the sentence, people at the back push her away, she slowly disappears in the sea of people, then I shout
back to her. “See you again next year!”.

When I arrive at the Narita Airport, as it is early in the morning I can see just a few people in front of the
check in machine, close to the self-service baggage machine. There are more than 10 available machines, which is
impossible in Thailand, people will scramble towards these machines directly as soon as they arrive, but anyway
this is Japan. Japanese people do not scramble. I enter the passport and flight number and wait, and with luck
hopefully after this I can walk outside and grab a drink. “INVALID NUMBER”. Oddly, it won’t let me check in. Did I
do something wrong? Maybe I’ve checked in the flight too soon, I should wait for a few hours, right? With the
innocent ideas of 10-years-old kid, I patiently wait for the time to pass and search any solutions on google while
waiting. 11 O’clock. I have an hour left before the boarding time. Everyone starts entering the gate apart from me.
I’m still at the machine.
 An instinct whispers around my ears, tells me that something must have gone wrong. I run to the counter. I
ask the assistant “Could you check my flight’s boarding time for me please?”. I give her my passport; my hands are
shacking. The rhythm in my heart anxiously drops in every second, the sound of my heart-beat blocks out the
noises from all directions, I can feel my lips getting drier. What should I do? All of a sudden, the sound of high heels
clicking pulls me up from my mind, the assistance comes up with her friends. I can clearly see from their facial
expressions that my fears are going to be realized. “Sorry for the waiting miss Mata, we think you’ve
misunderstood something”. The question is forming on my lips, but the lady doesn’t give me a chance to ask.
“You’re in the wrong airport”.