My father often made up stories for me. This happened when I was young - in particular when my mother was hospitalized while pregnant with my brother. I was staying then in the home of my paternal grandmother. I was afraid of the big, old house with its thatched roof and low-hanging beams, and was unable to sleep properly at night. However, on the rare occasions when my father would get home before my bedtime, he'd gently tuck me into my futon and tell me a story. When I was with my father, the fear faded away, and I'd drift off to sleep in the middle of a tale. The stories he told me weren't time-honored folk tales, nor twists on real-life history. They were fairy tales of his own creation. Delightful, funny stories that would keep me awake laughing; melancholic tales that would have me soaking my pillows with tears; nonsensical stories that amazed my childish mind. All of them served as precious nourishment for my soul. And so... I don't think it's such a strange outcome that I became a book lover. As a gloomy, introverted child I would sit by myself in the classroom flipping through the pages of a book. Thanks to my father's influence, my genre of choice was fantasy. Lewis Carroll's 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland'. Charles Kingsley's 'The Water-Babies: A Fairy Tale for a Land Baby'. But the novel that I loved most was 'The Wonderful Wizard of Oz', by Lyman Frank Baum. I saw the characters in the book as projections of myself and those around me. The Tin Woodman without a heart was me. And the Cowardly Lion was Nerine Komikado. We'd become friends after the incident on our school trip, but I still couldn't get close to her. The reason was simple: she wasn't a loner like I was. Nerine had lots of friends, and she couldn't pay attention only to me. I never spoke to her when she was with her other friends. But when she was alone, I would pluck up my courage and say a few words. By a stroke of good luck, though, it turned out that our houses were close together and we shared the same route home. My journey to and from school became the happiest part of my day. When I couldn't be around her, I'd bury my head in a book, occasionally sneaking glances her way whenever my eyes grew tired. There she would be, laughing with her friends - the center of the class. But to my eyes, Nerine Komikado seemed somehow afraid. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. She looked, but she didn't seem to really see. Like the Cowardly Lion, I felt that she was hiding some inner frailty from the world. Then one day, tired of laughing, she left her circle of friends and came over to me to ask what I was reading. It was the first time she'd spoken to me in front of other people, and I found myself lost for words. She looked at the cover of the book in my hands. "'The Wonderful Wizard of Oz'? I like that book too." She said. Then she gazed down at the page I had open. "Those silver shoes are nice. They let you go anywhere." She commented. There are three reasons I loved 'The Wonderful Wizard of Oz', and one of them was those silver shoes. If I had those silver shoes, I could be with my mother in the hospital in an instant. Even though I was well aware it was just a fantasy, I still thought to myself just how wonderful that would be. And so I was shocked to find that Nerine Komikado held those same feelings in her heart. She stared at me, like she'd seen something in my face... "Click your heels three times." She said this, and-🏁

My father often made up stories for me. This happened when I was young - in particular when my mother was hospitalized while pregnant with my brother. I was staying then in the home of my paternal grandmother. I was afraid of the big, old house with its thatched roof and low-hanging beams, and was unable to sleep properly at night. However, on the rare occasions when my father would get home before my bedtime, he'd gently tuck me into my futon and tell me a story. When I was with my father, the fear faded away, and I'd drift off to sleep in the middle of a tale. The stories he told me weren't time-honored folk tales, nor twists on real-life history. They were fairy tales of his own creation. Delightful, funny stories that would keep me awake laughing; melancholic tales that would have me soaking my pillows with tears; nonsensical stories that amazed my childish mind. All of them served as precious nourishment for my soul. And so... I don't think it's such a strange outcome that I became a book lover. As a gloomy, introverted child I would sit by myself in the classroom flipping through the pages of a book. Thanks to my father's influence, my genre of choice was fantasy. Lewis Carroll's 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland'. Charles Kingsley's 'The Water-Babies: A Fairy Tale for a Land Baby'. But the novel that I loved most was 'The Wonderful Wizard of Oz', by Lyman Frank Baum. I saw the characters in the book as projections of myself and those around me. The Tin Woodman without a heart was me. And the Cowardly Lion was Nerine Komikado. We'd become friends after the incident on our school trip, but I still couldn't get close to her. The reason was simple: she wasn't a loner like I was. Nerine had lots of friends, and she couldn't pay attention only to me. I never spoke to her when she was with her other friends. But when she was alone, I would pluck up my courage and say a few words. By a stroke of good luck, though, it turned out that our houses were close together and we shared the same route home. My journey to and from school became the happiest part of my day. When I couldn't be around her, I'd bury my head in a book, occasionally sneaking glances her way whenever my eyes grew tired. There she would be, laughing with her friends - the center of the class. But to my eyes, Nerine Komikado seemed somehow afraid. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. She looked, but she didn't seem to really see. Like the Cowardly Lion, I felt that she was hiding some inner frailty from the world. Then one day, tired of laughing, she left her circle of friends and came over to me to ask what I was reading. It was the first time she'd spoken to me in front of other people, and I found myself lost for words. She looked at the cover of the book in my hands. "'The Wonderful Wizard of Oz'? I like that book too." She said. Then she gazed down at the page I had open. "Those silver shoes are nice. They let you go anywhere." She commented. There are three reasons I loved 'The Wonderful Wizard of Oz', and one of them was those silver shoes. If I had those silver shoes, I could be with my mother in the hospital in an instant. Even though I was well aware it was just a fantasy, I still thought to myself just how wonderful that would be. And so I was shocked to find that Nerine Komikado held those same feelings in her heart. She stared at me, like she'd seen something in my face... "Click your heels three times." She said this, and-🏁