Ky

Strapačky is a traditional Slovak food.

I went walking to Tim Hortons café, twice this sunny morning of the 24th of May of 2025: Firstly, I drank an Iced Classic Lemonade. Secondly, I enjoyed a Sausage English Muffin and an Earl Grey Tea with oat milk. Then, 'twas a lunch of Sinospheric dishes at home, thanks to my cousin Eve who brought them from Yaohan Centre: gai lan, brown rice, fried fish, fried shrimps, and fried squid. At that centre, there was once a big Japanese bookstore on the second level, where I sometimes browsed Japanese books. After lunch with cousin and Mama, around 13:00, I decided on this blue-sky day to venture to the Roman Catholic church on St. Albans Road. It's Saturday today, so I wasn't expecting anything, but lo and behold, there was a wonderful prelude to a Filipino wedding! There were people in their finest attire. As I stepped out, I saw in the sunshine the bride in full white-gown glory. Another young lady was helping her lay out the fancy dress. 'Twas good that it wasn't raining! The scene reminded me of the "maiko-san" or geisha apprentice in Kyōto, when I was there. Then, I spent a few minutes in the Adoration Temple. It might be my 17th trip to that church this spring. The big Empress Tree near Bowcock Road still has a few purple flowers, but most of them have fallen off already. I saw my Greek Cypriot neighbour Nikki doing her daily routine of walking around the block several times. I waved at the religious Filipino family at the street corner.

It’s a warm, blue-sky 23rd of July, 2025, here on Lulu Island. In the morning, I strolled to Tim Hortons and ordered an iced coffee with oat milk—my usual cool indulgence. The cup sweated in my hand as I walked again, this time to sunny South Arm Park. There, amidst the magical hush of the forest, I settled at a wooden picnic table. Sipping slowly, I listened to leaves whisper. It felt like something from a dream. Only today do I realize—I’m a café hobbyist. On my Social Media feed, Japan scrolls past me in serene vignettes: tatami coffee nooks, latte art under lanterns, cedarwood counterbars lit with soft amber light. Somewhere between Lulu Island and Kyōto, I wander. / iced coffee cup— / wooden tables' dream / under fir shadows

It's a sunny 26th of July of 2025, here on Lulu Island. As usual, I walk to, drink at, and snack at Tim Hortons café. In the morning there, I was talking to Gary the Cantonese. He knows that I lived in Japan before. He wants to visit. I recommended to him "one week in Tokyo and one week in Okinawa." We both agreed that what makes a place special is really the food. We both agreed that Japan is much like Thailand. We talked about World War II: In the Philippines, my mother was a little girl, to whom a Japanese soldier gave little toys like a toy chick and promised that he would marry her when she grew up upon his return. Gary talked about family members who had to swim across the river to get to another place in "Occupied Hong Kong." I didn't mention to him about my fantasies about the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere or "Dai Tōa Kyōeiken" in an alternative reality. Yesterday, I went to South Arm Park to view the forest. There was a colourful ice cream truck roving around, blaring the tune of "Music Box Dancer" by Frank Mills.

It's Lulu Island, the 26th of July of 2025. It begins as always—with sunlight glinting off sidewalks and the easy rhythm of habit. I walk to Tim Hortons, a modern pilgrimage. The oat-milk coffee, a small rite. Gary is there again—Gary the Cantonese, as I've come to call him in my inner haiku. We talk over steaming cups and breakfast sandwiches, meandering from Japan to Thailand to the war. I tell him: "One week Tokyo, one week Okinawa." He nods. We agree: the taste of a place is its soul. We smile at the thought of izakaya clamor and the smell of fish sauce. Then history unfolds like an old film reel. In the Philippines, my mother—a child—was given a toy chick by a Japanese soldier, who spoke of returning, of marriage. Gary speaks of rivers crossed under fear, in "Occupied Hong Kong" in the shadow of Empire. We don't mention everything. I don't mention my alternate histories—the Dai Tōa Kyōeiken, shimmering in some parallel world. The unspoken sometimes speaks loudest. Yesterday, the forest of South Arm Park. I wandered there in contemplative silence. A lone ice cream truck rolled by, blaring "Music Box Dancer"—a tune too cheerful for the tangle of emotion in my chest. / ice cream melody— / childhood ghosts stirring / in the shade of firs

I put on a big fanny of Ky, that is a straight-sided pot of cocoa for them returning.

(A) Plane-polarized light and (B) back-scattered electron (BSE) images. The pseudomorph (Crd) is made up of Grt + Qtz + Ky rodlets + micas flakes (mainly biotite, Bt).

However, its latest challenger, the 'aged' filter is growing in popularity with 6.9 million videos shared by users. And of course, with such a celebrity like Ky [Kylie Jenner] jumping on the social media trend, we only expect this number to grow.