“Being loved.” For me, these words are stuck to a memory of a disaster. It happened on my younger sister’s third birthday.

  My family was a typical, average-income household in a rural area of Japan. From my sister and me to my great-grandmother, four generations of our family lived together. My parents always managed without much money. We tried to be as frugal as we could, but family members’ birthdays were an exception. It was a special day when we could eat a big, wonderful, round cake together. 

On my sister’s birthday, I had been excited since I woke up. We can eat cake today! Before dinner I sneaked into the kitchen and asked my parents, “What is the flavor of today’s cake?” Immediately, their faces turned pale, and they stood motionless like they were struck by lightning. Yes, they completely forgot my sister’s birthday!

My dad ran out of the house in a hurry to find cake shops in the town. It was around 6:00 p.m., so they were about to close. He went to one shop after the other to find a big, round cake. Unfortunately, they were out of stock in every store. But he didn’t give up. He bought several pieces of cake of different shapes and connected them to be a whole round cake. That night, we all sat around the very weird cake. It was crooked, not unified in color, and barely kept a round shape. It looked far from yummy. My sister was astonished. She screamed, “This is not what I wanted!” and cried for an hour. Everything was messed up.

Yet, that is exactly the proof of being loved: the innocence of my sister putting her thoughts into words without even hesitating, my parent’s sincere love for her, the power of our family to accept everything (bad things and good things), and the unique round cake. Every time I remember that night, a warm, tender feeling flows in my heart.