I became interested in Manchuria only recently. I think the interest first arose with my grandfather's death. I remembered him while sorting out his belongings after his passing. The stories of the Kanto Army, heard by the fireside, were like extraordinary war meetings, very exciting for the kid I was. One of my grandpa's war buddies, 'The Captain', visited us sometimes to chat about the old times. He used to bring us presents - lots of buns and strawberries that we could never finish. The strawberry farmer and the confectioner used to be his subordinates too. Naturally, my grandmother was the little sister of one of these war buddies. Such is the deepness of war bonds. I found a love letter amongst my grandpa's things. Learning about my grandpa's youth was entertaining at first, but I became more and more moved as I read the words, a strange mix of Japanese and Chinese. I could almost hear the passionate heartbeat of that woman, like during an orgasm, reverberating through her words. 'I can hear an extremely lonely voice from somewhere', she wrote. The old paper tinged with yellow, and the square ideograms written with a woman's tenderness, probably the sender. Through the destruction of her country, and the sadness that followed, the massacres, the separations, the wanderings, the hardships that can't be explained with words, the tough and yet delicate sensitivity of that woman, treading on thin ice, hurled around by the waves of the violence of the times, felt to me as the perfect omen for the end of Manchuria. Men dying in the war, and women weeping after them. There is no doubt these women had to go through lives full of true emotions, as my grandpa's lover did. To me, this trueness of emotions is a constant reminder of tragedy.