I am interested in what’s considered to be normal.
I am interested in walls and how they affect the physical space and mental space.
I am interested in the clothes that my mother tells me that she can’t wear any more because she’s “not young enough.”
I am interested in why I was crying and screaming to the sky to bring my mom and dad to me whenever I got home without the house key and there’s no one in the house.
I am interested in how I become Japanese a lot more in America than in Japan.
I am interested in why for most of my dreams I go back to the oldest house that I lived until I was 11.
I am interested in what you first thought of me before I started reading my list.
I am interested in how the way I look at myself changes every second and still be able to call myself “me.”
I am interested in how the sound that I hear around me makes me feel assured that I actually exist within the space.
I am interested in the silence within a packed commute trains.
I am interested in what people think of me when I look into their eyes when they are passing me on the train or car.
I am interested in what kind of sound it would be if I could hear all the clocks on earth.
I am interested in my happy feelings.
I am interested in what you think of me now that you know a tiny bit more of myself.
I am interested in my dark feelings.
I am interested in what people think of me when I make noise by speaking Japanese, like どうも皆様本日は宜しくお願いします。
I am interested in how I try to understand a thing by looking at the texture of its surface.
I am interested in what is called the “negative space” in between you and me.
I am interested in how I can float on the water but not on clouds.
I am interested in how I used to fear my feet not touching the ground in a pool.
I am interested in how what we can see seems more convincing than things that are invisible.
I am interested in how time passes, or that we think that time only can pass.
I am interested in a melting ice cube that is half ice and half water.
I am interested in how green tea is good for me.
I am interested in why my brother closed himself up in his room for a year after high school and decided to visit me in America and started living here.
I am interested in how my dad tells me to “keep it in mind that the society is mostly made up of people like your mom and your dad” after looking at my art works.
I am interested in why I could not tell my teacher that I needed to go to the bathroom in front of all of my classmates in my first grade.
I am interested in the people who are handing pocket tissues with advertisement on the back to strangers without looking at them in front of a train station in Tokyo.
I am interested in peace signs that Japanese people hold up when they have their photos taken.
I am interested in finding out a way to become popular without becoming famous.
I am interested in trying to figure out how to look at my neck, the back of my head, and my face without a mirror.
I am interested in how my hands began to look like my mom’s that I remember from my childhood.
I am interested in beyond the sunset, where there are people having lunch together, there are people reading newspaper with a cup of coffee listening to the radio, there are people dreaming in the bed.
I am interested in the lock that is on the closet of my brother’s room.
I am interested in edges of things that one plane starts and stops.
I am interested in why I long for things that used to be mundane.
I am interested in how my feeling of belonging can be generated at occasions and places where I once had feeling of isolations and displacement.
I am interested in how my grandparents give me money every time I visit them while they keep telling me that I am too old to get money from them.  
I am interested in how I can only make one tissue flower in one minute by myself, but 5 of them can also be made in one minute if there are 5 people; 50 of them in one minute with 50 people, 500 in one minute with 500 people, 5000 in one minute with 5000 people.
I am interested in what you think of me now that you know a bit more of myself form a minute ago.
I am interested in why my mom’s miso soup tastes the best though I always think that it needs more salt.



mika soma