His name was Yasu. He was a public servant, a modest occupation that suited his quiet demeanour. Yasu was softly spoken; he would always pause and think before saying anything, something that I found rare in this world. To me, …
Meagan Sneddon Articles.
I’m sitting here listening to the rain and wondering where everyone is. It’s so silent. My tiny village seems to be deserted. It’s just the rain quietly tapping on the roof, asking if I’m alone. It’s a Friday afternoon, a …
I move house a lot. To be precise, at least once every two years. Since I hit eighteen and became an adult, I’ve been constantly on the move, floating from city to city, house to house, chasing the horizon and …
I have a love-hate relationship with Tokyo. I love the energy of it, the weird mix of people and the odd mismatch of worn-down salarymen tired of life and strange, quirky nonconformists, lining up patiently for the peak-hour train. Everything …