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  • 執筆者の写真Yuko

1.0 KIOSK on the white platform

March 1 2021

Someone woke me up in a dream at night. It was the first time in my life.

A pure white space spread over before me. It was tranquillity in white. Suddenly, the wind arose. With the gentle breeze on my cheeks, I was remembering something.

This wind told me that my sadness had ebbed away. A year has passed since the tragic day on March 2 2020. Tomorrow would be the first anniversary of my mother's death. The breeze tickled me swaying my hair like a young branch of willows. 

I was on the white platform in white tranquillity. I recognised the white word “KIOSK” written in white.

Something poked its head out from the well of my heart and breathed deeply.

Then, it started to tell a story.

“KIOSK” is a small shop that stands on the border between light and darkness. In Japan, where I was born and raised, small but vital daily necessities are sold on a platform beside the railroad tracks.

I heard the train approaching. The train arrived and the doors were sliding. It was a white train in white. A flood of people on a narrow platform. It reminded me of the last scene of the church mass I saw in Shanghai. Vivid colours stung me like a sharp needle. “KIOSK” touched old memories and washed away all colours at once.

The “KIOSK” is exactly like an islet. Those who are thirsty, those who are hungry, those who have forgotten. It's like a magnet. Each is attracted to the “KIOSK” experiencing light and darkness. 

When I was a child, I saw the darkness hidden in my beloved mother on the platform.

After returning from the violin lesson, we were on the platform. My mother was attracted to the "KIOSK". She wanted to buy me some juice. She was kind and I liked her very much. 

While waiting for my mother, men came in strange clothes I had never seen before.

They were laughing loudly and unobtrusively. They looked at me and smiled. I also smiled back.


At that time, my mother called my name with an iron-like voice she used to scold me. This tone was so cold and scary that I was like a frog stared at by a snake. If I could, I would like to hide in the water of a well.


“Don't talk to those people!” The voice of my mother in iron armour is always unreasonable. 

“Who is that person?” asked I.

“The person who does the construction. The person who builds the building.”

“Why can't I talk to them?” I asked again.

“If you don't study, you'll be like those people.” The voice in iron armour is always sharp.

She passed me a can of orange juice. The conversation was over. I knew that my mother would no longer respond, even if I asked again.

The train arrived at the platform and the doors were sliding. We got on the train. 

The forest of buildings catches my eye from the train window. There were lots of skyscrapers. Tokyo was filled with buildings, utility poles and electric wires.

A simple question mark hung over.

"Why shouldn't I talk to the people who built such buildings?"


Tokyo was made of buildings. We also lived in a building. The people who built the building are the creators of Tokyo.


I imagined how the building was being built. When I played with my imagination, I could be completely free from my mother in iron armour.


I played with Lego in my head. After a while, the scenery from the train window turned into Lego.

A group of men were busy building skyscrapers with Lego. A group of people whom my mother categorised as “such people” and she put them on the other side of the border. It was darkness.  

I was distrustful of my mother. It was the first time in my life. It was not my mother's fault, but it was because of the darkness lurking inside her mother's heart.

"My mother was wrong."

Intuition whispered me like the gentle breeze on my cheeks. I swallowed that intuition with orange juice.

The train stopped and the doors opened. I got off the train. I was alone.

The wind tickled my cheeks. It was cold.

There is only one platform. 

A cold wind tugged at my hair. When I turned in the direction I was pulled, I saw “KIOSK”. There was a white bench next to it. I sat down and closed my eyes. I was on the border between light and darkness.

The train arrived and the doors opened. I knew that many passengers had alighted because the atmosphere had changed. It was such a change. I tasted the change while closing my eyes. 

I heard a voice. 

The voice was sensitive, but put various emotions like a impressionable young mind. It was like a train carrying various people. Again, I got an irresistible urge to remember something. 

The voice began to tell another story.

Even in Cologne, where I was born and raised, KIOSKs sell coffee and light meals on the road. Hungry and thirsty people are attracted to these islets on this road. They are like magnets. 

The voice continued.

There, light and darkness intersect. Children and building workers were strongly attracted together. Hot coffee and delicious snacks promote a warm harmony.  

"Wake up! It's time." 

The voice woke me up. It was the second time in my life.  

I opened my eyes. There was nobody, but “KIOSK” in white. I was thirsty so I was attracted to it. I wanted to buy a can of orange juice. I looked in it. Kiosk was anything but predictable. It sold Bubble tea. 

Cold and sweet milk tea whets my throat. I chewed the bubbles made of tapioca. 

It was the voice again.

”When your imagination swallows the pride and prejudice that lurks in yourself, you will smell the rain."

As soon as I swallowed tapiocas, the heavy rain fell. Everything was washed away. 

I took the first step.

To be continued.....

Dear readers,

KIOSK is a captivating and thought-provoking novel that delves into the realm of lucid dreaming and spirituality. Inspired by the author's own first lucid dream, the story follows a protagonist who finds themselves on a mysterious white platform with a KIOSK shop that triggers childhood memories and sets them on a transformative spiritual journey.

As the protagonist explores the depths of their subconscious through meditation and self-reflection, they begin to experience profound changes in their waking life. Through vivid descriptions and introspective prose, KIOSK takes readers on a journey of self-discovery and personal growth.

This novel is the first instalment in a triptych series that promises to captivate readers with its unique blend of dream exploration, spirituality, and personal transformation.

I hope that KIOSK will be an interesting book for anyone seeking a deeper understanding of the power of the mind and the interconnectedness of dreams and reality through meditation.





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