"Mami," I said, reading the kanji 「真実」tattooed on the bicep of the young man seated beside me last December, aboard a flight bound for Houston, Texas. "Is that the name of your Japanese girlfriend?"
The mélange of emotions displayed on his face — a mixture of irritation and panic — could have put him in contention for an Oscar.
"No," he replied grimly, "It's not 'Mommy,' " which is what he thought I had said.