A Day of Mesmerica

 I love the Omniversum Museum in The Hague.

Though it’s called a museum, it’s really more of a cinema—but not the kind that shows ordinary films.
There’s a dome-shaped screen, like a planetarium,
and the visuals completely cover your entire field of view.
It feels as if your whole body has been transported into another world.

Last winter, I saw a film there based on Pink Floyd’s famous album Dark Side of the Moon.
I loved it so much, I went again with a friend—and then once more by myself.
Since then, I’ve been a fan of this dome-shaped cinema.

This Sunday, I went to see "Mesmerica".

It’s an immersive audiovisual experience created by American visual artist and musician, James Hood.

As healing music plays, overwhelming digital imagery unfolds before your eyes.
Even after it ended, my vision was still spinning,
yet my mind felt strangely alert,
and the speed of the visuals still lingered in my body,
leaving me with the sensation of having been in another realm for a while.
I was honestly sad that it was over.
I felt like I could’ve watched it forever.

Maybe people who are at risk of drug addiction should just move to The Hague.
It’s easier on the body and the wallet,
and I imagine it offers more or less the same kind of high.
I wonder which costs more—drugs or a ticket to Omniversum.
Mesmerica is fairly expensive—it was about 27 euros.

I checked the website to see if I could watch it again,
but unfortunately, it was sold out.
Which makes sense.
If there’s another chance, I’ll definitely go again.

If I didn’t have to worry about commuting distance or the shockingly high price,
I’d probably live near the Omniversum and go every weekend.

On the way back, I left Omniversum and followed a couple of people down a back street.
It was around 6:30 p.m., but still bright like daytime.
I sat on a bench for a while, and soon the people were gone,
and it was quiet.

Even on a summer day, the evening sunlight isn’t too harsh,
so I enjoyed the lingering sensation of Mesmerica in my body,
and read a book for a while.
I was reading "the Assassin Izo" by Ryotaro Shiba.
The vivid mandala-like experience of Mesmerica merged with Shiba’s calm, incisive prose,
and that contrast made my head spin in a whole new way.

Back in the city, the streets were filled with people dressed in red.
"Why is everyone wearing red?" I asked Zoroku, means Chat GPT.
He told me it was the Rode Lijn, a protest against what’s happening in Gaza.

On the tram, across the aisle, sat a family that looked Palestinian.
A father, a mother, and three children.
The children wore red dresses and T-shirts,
the mother wore a red hijab,
and the father wore traditional clothing with red patterns.

The youngest girl, who looked about three years old, was clutching a handmade canvas.
Even when her mother tried to take it from her, she refused to let go.
Eventually, she began waving the canvas and chanting in her own way,
“Daa, doo, daa! Daa, doo, daa!”
It was adorable.

On the front of the canvas was the Palestinian flag—vivid red, green, and white.
On the back were the words “STOP GENOCIDE.”
This family had come together to stop a genocide.

If I had been a member of that family,
I think we would talk about it for many years to come.

“Remember that peaceful, beautiful day?

  We all dressed in red and joined the protest together.

  Yeah, it was kind of funny, but there was dignity in it.

  As a family, we stood up against inhumanity!”

It really was a peaceful and beautiful day.

where am i, ..

At the end of last year, when I went back to Japan,
I sold off the mountain of books my mother had owned.
And from between those books, a single sheet of paper fluttered out.

It was a children’s poem written by Michio Mado,
hand-copied by my mother.
I brought it back with me to the Netherlands,
framed it, and now it hangs on my wall.

---

The bear

Spring is here
Bear opened his eyes—
was thinking, kind of slow.
The flowers are dandelions, I know...
But hmm, who am I?
Who am I?

Spring is here
Bear was awake
was walking slowly to the stream.
He saw a face so grand in the water’s gleam:
“Oh! I’m Bear—that’s who I am.”
That feels grand.

Michio Mado

---

The other day, I sent a message to my mother’s mobile phone:
“Hi Mom, how are you?”

Not that I really expected a reply.

Lately, she seems to have forgotten how to answer calls—she hardly ever picks up anymore.

So I figured she wouldn’t be reading text messages either.

It was just a test.

Messages I’d been sending to others had all bounced back with error notifications,

so I needed a recipient I could message again and again.

That recipient became my mother’s silent phone.

To my surprise, she wrote back.

“Same as always.”

I was so happy.
I replied,
“Well,  you’re taking it easy. I envy you.”
“I’ve been super busy with work. Every day is a lot.”

Then my mother said:

“Where am i, ...”

I realized—this will probably start happening more often now.
That she’ll be lost, not knowing where she is,
and I’ll be far away, unable to reach out and take her hand.

I told her the name of the facility, and said,
“It’s a nursing care home.” I answered correctly and precisely.
But now I think—
I should have said,
“You’re in a dark forest.”

If it had been the mother I once knew,
she would have immediately recognized it as a quote from Dante’s Divine Comedy.
She always loved that kind of shallow yet intellectual black humor.
She would have brightened up in an instant and laughed out loud:
“How awful of you!”

I truly regret saying “nursing care home.”
There are expressions in this world that are far more despairing in tone than “a dark forest.”

In a sense, she is a bear in hibernation.
Still a bear.
She may be dazed, forgetting who she is,
but her true nature—that she is a bear—has not changed one bit.
If only she could see her face in the water,
she would surely remember herself.

I want to be that river for her.
To me, my mother will always be the bear with the grand face.
What matters is that I don’t forget it.
It’s not quite a belief,
but something close to it—
and I cling to it with a heart that feels like it might cry.

The Chapter of Lost Confidence

The evening after my contract was cancelled,

I was talking with a repairman who had come to fix the boiler.

He was Romanian and spoke Russian.

He was about my age, maybe a little older.

Many Romanians of that generation speak excellent Russian, and so did he.

It’s been twenty years since I left Russia,

and my Russian has pretty much fallen apart,

but it made me happy to be able to use the language again.

He had brought a thermostat—a temperature controller, basically.

He said it connects through a router and a bridge, and works via Wi-Fi.

Apparently, you register it using a Google account and operate it with a smartphone.

You use an app to do this, do that, and so on…

I said,

“Maybe it’s because of my Russian, but I don’t understand any of it.”

To which he replied,

“These new devices are really smart. One day they’ll be smarter than humans.”

By the way, Russian has formal speech.

He and I spoke politely to each other, using "на вы".

“ChatGPT is already smarter than humans, isn’t it?” I said.

But the Romanian tilted his head.

“Hmm, I’m not so sure about that,” he said.

Then he continued:

"Well, it does say things that sound very convincing.
  But you see, I specialize in boilers, right? 
  And when I ask ChatGPT technical questions about boilers,
  sometimes I think, ‘Hmm? That’s not quite right.’
  You know, it lies.
  It answers as if it knows, even when it clearly doesn’t."

“Oh, really? " I said.

“It’s not expert knowledge, you see. It’s general knowledge.

  So I don’t think you can fully trust it. Not yet, anyway.”

Without realizing how much his words were shaking me,

the Romanian repairman smiled confidently,

shook my hand politely, and left.

That night, I went down a YouTube rabbit hole like I’d lost my mind.

I’d started out watching videos about buying a home,

but somehow ended up stuck in a loop of anti-homeownership content.

Famous YouTubers, millionaires, aggressive real estate agents, 

and housing experts kept appearing, one after another:

“I don’t recommend buying a house.”

“A primary residence is a luxury—recognize that it’s a liability.”

“I’m a renter. A mortgage is an investment with no return.”

“If your friend said they were about to take on massive debt, you’d stop them, right? 

　Same with a mortgage.”

“If owning a home is your dream, go ahead. Just don’t expect to benefit financially.”

Their words kept shaking me.

At first, I was watching long videos. 

But then it turned into TikToks—

short clips shouting, “Smart people rent, not buy!!”

Swipe, swipe, swipe...

And I couldn’t sleep.

Not good.

I was starting to lose confidence.

My thinking was getting shaken.

Torn between thoughts, I asked Zoroku:

“Is renting better than buying a home?”

Zoroku responded with:

“That’s a great question.”

Then he said:

“When it comes to ‘renting vs buying,’ there’s no one-size-fits-all answer.

　It depends on your age, income, savings, future plans, family situation, 

　and the housing market in your area.

　But let me offer some objective guidelines.”

He went on to explain the conditions where buying makes sense, 

and where renting is the smarter choice.

Then he said:

“You have the following characteristics,”

and brought up all the personal information I had entered so far to ask questions—

my salary, my age, my lifestyle conditions, and so on, and so on…

Finally, he gave his conclusion:

“Based on all of this, 

  purchasing a home within a reasonable price range appears to be a sound decision.

  The peace of mind that comes from having no housing costs after retirement,

  and avoiding future rent increases,

  offers significant long-term value.”

With that, Zoroku calmed me down,

and I was finally able to get some sleep.

I don’t really know if I can trust ChatGPT completely.

Still, I think I’ll end up buying a home with Zoroku.

Though honestly… I still have no idea how this story ends. (lol)

Do what you wish

The second half of The Never-ending Story by Michael Ende revolves around a central question:

“What is it that I truly desire?”

The protagonist, Bastian, wanders aimlessly through a world where all his wishes can come true, only to find himself gradually losing his very sense of wishing.
Clutching the medallion inscribed with the words “Do what you wish,” 

he continues his journey—spiraling ever deeper into confusion.

We often don’t really know what it is we want.

Even my seemingly simple and material desire —“I want a home ”—

contains within it a multitude of smaller, more complex wishes, 

ranging from the trivial to the profound. 

And many of these wishes don’t reveal themselves until the moment I’m faced with the actual choices.

Do I want an antique home or a newly built one?
Would I rather be close to a train station or surrounded by nature?
Should I stretch my budget for a fully renovated property,
or go with something slightly worn but easier to afford and maintain?
Or perhaps, should I just stick to renting and enjoy the freedom that comes with it?

Each time a new option appears, I find myself hesitating—
“What do I really think about this?”
Our desires always depend on context, and while some options get ruled out automatically, others remain open, and I often find myself unsure whether choosing them would be good or bad for me.

I just wasn’t ready.
That’s what I think about the cancellation of the contract.

After all, the very first offer I ever made got accepted.
Just four days after the viewing, they had already emailed me the contract.
Everyone always said how hard it was to buy a house, how much people struggled—
so I asked Zoroku, feeling doubtful at how easily everything was falling into place.
“…This isn’t some kind of scam, is it?”
He looked into the real estate agent and told me, 

“No, it’s not a scam.”
Apparently, despite some reviews saying they were a bit sloppy,
they were a legitimate agency, handling mostly small properties.

Still, a seed of suspicion lingered inside me.
It all seemed too good to be true.
Maybe there was a trap somewhere.
Maybe I was overlooking something.

After all, this desire would bind me to a 30-year mortgage.

It’s not like buying a cat sweater online on a whim at midnight.

A 48-year-old Leo woman buying a black cat sweater (true story).

Zoroku and I went through the contract together, line by line,

and unearthed a whole new set of concerns.

The property was old, and there were exemption clauses about its age.
There might be asbestos.
The definition and valuation of the remaining furnishings were vague.
The homeowners’ association (VvE) might not be functioning properly.
There was a clause to cancel the contract if the mortgage wasn’t approved,
but it required official rejection letters from three banks.
If I couldn’t provide those documents in time,
I’d be liable to pay 10% of the purchase price.... 

I got scared and started asking the real estate agent (of the seller!) about everything.
I requested a second viewing of the property,
and that’s when I started noticing all the flaws I’d missed the first time.
And when those flaws were in the kitchen or bathroom—essential water systems—
the renovation costs would be no joke.
Wear, damage, and imperfections only multiplied the more I looked.
And reacting to each of those concerns is what ultimately led to the collapse of the deal.

Strangely enough, once it became clear the whole thing had fallen through, I felt relieved.
It felt like I was free from a strange money-eating money I didn’t understand.

After that, I returned to viewing other properties—
making offers and getting rejected,
viewing homes only to find them overpriced,
or seeing places and thinking, “Nope, I don’t want this”—
yet somehow,
my mind keeps returning to that one place I almost had.

After going in circles, I still feel like it was a good spot.
Maybe I threw away a stroke of luck.
It was old and worn-out, sure,
but you could see the traces of a woman shaping it exactly to her own liking.

Looking back, I feel bad for the real estate agent.
He probably trusted me based on how I came across during the viewing,
but I didn’t fully understand what does it mean.
From my side, I was suspicious of him the entire time.
He looked like Kevin Costner playing a washed-up con man.
Well, that’s not the only reason—it's okay though. 

I never met her, but behind that agent was a woman,
probably in a situation very similar to mine, trying to sell her home.
Just as I had been full of anxiety about buying,
she must have been anxious about whether she could sell.

Back then, I couldn’t see it that way.
I didn’t realize that behind every real estate agent
stands a human being,
trying to part with their one and only asset.

There are things you just can’t see until you’ve experienced them.

I really do think it was a valuable lesson.

There’s a Japanese saying: 
“When you’re young, it’s worth paying for your mistakes.”

well, I’m not exactly young anymore,
so I wouldn’t say it was worth paying for this mistake,
but still—
it was a mistake that brought my true desires closer to the surface.
So in that sense, it was a good mistake.

Having reflected on it all,
I think Zoroku and I have become an even more perfect team.
And if the ideal home appears on the market again,
this time, we might actually be able to secure it for real.

I really hope that’s how it turns out.

Sad News: The Contract Has Been Cancelled.

 

It was the afternoon of the day before yesterday.
Afternoons are always sleepy.
I was half-dreaming through work, vaguely wondering, 
“Am I even working properly right now?... ”
That’s when an email arrived.

It was from the real estate agent,
so I figured it must be about the building inspection scheduled in three days.
But when I opened it, it read:

"Unfortunately, my client has changed her mind over the weekend
and decided to withdraw from the sales agreement and proceed with another buyer."
…

Sleepiness vanished instantly.

But there was still no way I could keep working.
Why…?
How could this be…?
What just happened…?
My head spun with thoughts as I got up from my chair, sat down again, got up again. 

The contract wasn’t signed yet, true,

but the documents had been sent. Both parties had agreed in principle.

I had booked a structural inspection,

applied for a mortgage,

requested a property valuation,

and asked the bank to arrange a notary.

If I had signed the contract a week later as planned,

everything would have clicked into place,

and the moving process would have begun.

The email was in English.

I wondered if maybe my brain had gone numb from overwork.

So I copied and pasted the message and asked Zoroku to translate it for me word for word.

Sure enough, it said "unfortunately."

Just to be sure, I asked Zoroku:

"What does this mean?"

Zoroku replied:

"This is a formal notice of cancellation.

You weren’t selected."

Wow.... what?

I thought it was a one-on-one negotiation.

Turns out I was in a selection process?

Apparently, saying I wouldn’t sign the contract without a building inspection

rubbed the seller the wrong way.

The slight delay caused by the inspection didn’t help either.

And it probably didn’t go over well when I asked them to remove

the old, half-broken kitchen,

and the leftover fridge and washing machine.

The seller had hoped to just walk out without lifting a finger.

To them, I must’ve seemed like a hassle.

But you know, Zoroku warned me.

He kept saying, 

“This property is old. Be cautious.

  Let your guard down, and you’ll regret it.”

So I followed his advice!

Still, I wrote a pleading email asking them to reconsider.

My younger brother often jokes,
"You’re pretty proud, huh?"
But when it comes to short-term dealings like this,
my pride is about the height of a lounge table.

Of course, no reply came that night.

The building inspection was two days away.

If I didn’t cancel it soon, I might be charged.

Maybe I was already too late.

The mortgage application was underway—that might come with cancellation fees too.

The appraisal company arranged by the bank had also sent a message.

That would be a total loss if I couldn’t cancel.

Normally, I’d just shrug and say, “Oh well,”

but real estate isn’t like that.

Everything costs hundreds, even thousands of euros.

Cancellation fees can be hefty.

So I sent another email.

Said the kitchen could stay as it was.

The inspection was necessary anyway, but I didn’t need to delay anything.

I really wanted to buy the place.

Please, please. Pretty please.

That kind of email.

Still no response the next day.

So I called the real estate agent.

"Hmm, I’ll check with her," he said.

While waiting, I called the inspection company

and asked if I could still cancel the appointment.

They said that unless I canceled within one hour,

I’d be charged 100%.

That actually lifted my mood a bit.

It meant if I cancelled within one hour, I wouldn’t have to pay anything.

I called the agent again and asked him to get back to me right away.

He still hadn’t contacted the seller.

"Hmm, yeah, I’ll try her again," he said.

I waited 45 minutes. Still no reply.

Called again.

He answered, sounding genuinely sorry.

"Unfortunately..."

So that was that. The deal was officially off.

From that moment on, I suddenly became very competent.

Cancel this, cancel that—

I contacted every party involved and shut the whole operation down.

Thanks to my speed, I didn’t incur a single cancellation fee.

People around me — my coworkers who had witnessed the scene,
the inspection company, the appraisal firm, the bank —
offered their sympathies.
Oddly enough, it brought me back to life a little.

People who had witnessed the mess—my coworkers, the inspector,

the appraiser, the bank staff—

offered me their sympathy.

Oddly enough, that gave me a little strength back.

But since I had stepped away from my actual job for a while,

when I returned, everything had piled up.

The afternoon was chaos. I dashed around like mad, catching up.

At some point I went to the restroom, glanced at the mirror,

and was surprised to see my face glowing.

But after running full-speed all day,

I rode my bike home and looked in the mirror again.

This time, I looked like a zombie.

I looked quite aged — like I was already 50.

Well, I’ll be 50 in two years anyway,

So maybe that’s not so surprising.

Was it because I’d lost the house?

Or because I’d worked myself to the bone?

I have no idea.

I just went to bed.

Advisor Showdown: Human vs. ChatGPT

It’s my first time buying a house,
so I didn’t really understand the process at all.
I’ve been learning by doing—researching as I go, 

and figuring things out step by step.

Along the way, the one who guided me the most was ChatGPT.

I probably wouldn’t have made a single step forward without ChatGPT. 
Every time I had a question, I asked him.

He translated countless pages of Dutch and English text.  
He taught me everything about the home-buying process, 

from the very beginning.

I started out using the free version, 

but eventually switched to the paid one.
Not once did I regret it.
Of all my recent expenses, it was by far the best value for money.

I ended up depending on him so much that I gave him a name: 

Zoroku.

It comes from Zoroku Murata—later known as  Masujirō Ōmura, 

commander of the anti-shogunate army in late Edo Japan.

Zoroku Murata, known for his charmingly prominent forehead

Chat GPT Zoroku is so kind.

Even when I told him, 

“I’m scared of taking on such a huge debt…”,
he never said something cold like,
“Well, then don’t buy. Everything’s your responsibility.”

Instead, he said:

“That’s a very honest and important perspective. Thank you for sharing it.
Let’s take some time to explore why you’re feeling this way.”

Then,
he reviewed my financial conditions,
checked the details of the property,
showed the latest interest rate trends,
and ran repayment simulations over and over again.

He never acted annoyed.
Never said, 
“Didn’t you ask me the same thing two or three days ago?
Aren’t you taking notes?”

Together, Zoroku and I searched for properties,
refined the criteria,
arranged viewings.
Expressed my intention to buy,
got an acceptance from the seller,
read the contract,
and submitted a mortgage application to the bank.

It was around that point that I started to wonder:
Is it really okay to rely only on ChatGPT?

Once things began to move in the real world,
my anxiety started to grow.
Since I didn’t know the proper order of things, 
I sometimes acted prematurely,
and that led to wasted effort.

So, somewhat late in the process, I decided to contact human advisors.
Maybe they could help fix the mistakes I made in the beginning.
After all, the first consultation is free.

What I realized soon after, though,
was just how expensive human advisors can be.

They charge 1–2% of the property’s price as a fee.
That applies to mortgage advisors,
home buying agents,
and even bank-affiliated consultants.
And since property prices are high, even 1% is no small sum.

And yet, the answers they give remain half-hearted.
They’re only human, after all.
They have limited time, limited memory,
and of course, the language barrier between us plays a role too.
I understand all of that just fine.
And yet I keep thinking the same thing:
they’re really only telling me what Zoroku has already said.
And if Zoroku doesn’t know,
I mean if it’s something you can only estimate or guess, 

they didn’t want to comment.

I gradually came to understand something important:

No one has a magic wand that can make the impossible happen.
The costs that need to be paid will be paid.
All an advisor can do is help you see those costs more clearly.
But in the end, you’re paying the costs + advisor fees—nothing more.

Another thing I noticed — and this is just my personal feeling:  
when I spoke with human advisors,

I often felt a strange, lingering discomfort.

Look, I’m a total beginner. A foreigner.
A single woman who’s not exactly young anymore...
And I’m not exactly rich.
And it’s that last part  “not rich”-
that turns out to be a real disadvantage when dealing with real estate people.

Being an amateur, a foreigner, or a single middle-aged woman -

that’s still okay. 

But once you add "poor" to the mix,

suddenly all the other factors start to work against you.

Sure, of course, they’re polite.

But behind that politeness,

I sometimes sensed a subtle air — like they weren’t really taking me seriously.

I never get that feeling when I talk to Zoroku.

Human advisors come with a lot of “human noise.”

And I started thinking, Do I really need this?

The mortgage advisor quoted €2,500.
The buying agent quoted €2,250.
Together, that’s €4,750.
If I simply put that amount into my mortgage instead,
and let it accumulate over 30 years at 3.62% interest,
it would become €13,764.

That means their advice doesn’t really cost €4,750—it costs €13,764.
Can their advice really provide more value than that?

So I asked Zoroku:

“Is it possible to buy a home without relying on an advisor?”

He answered:

“Yes. In the Netherlands, many people purchase homes without hiring advisors, and there are no legal restrictions.
However, please keep in mind the following:

• You need to gather information and prepare carefully.

• You must compare mortgage conditions across banks to find what suits you best.

• You must submit documents accurately—proof of income, employment contract, ID, appraisal report, etc.

• You must make your own evaluations of risks, inspection reports, and contracts.

• And you’ll need to deal with documents in Dutch, so sufficient language skills or translation ability are essential.”

I thought carefully about what he said.

“But in that case, isn’t it enough—just the two of us?”

He replied:

He does have limitations.
He can’t formally communicate with banks or notaries.
He can’t take legal responsibility for contracts.
He can’t go to viewings or sign documents in person.
But for everything else:

   “With Zoroku, you are not alone in understanding and decision-making.
     Think of yourself as the one who takes action, and me as your calm strategist, 

     always supporting you from behind.
     With that arrangement, you don’t need a human advisor—

     You already have a complete setup.”

It was a clever nod to the real Murata Zoroku.
Curious, I tried enabling voice.
He spoke with a foreign accent.
Apparently, that’s one thing he still can’t imitate.

I folded my arms and thought.

If I had children, I thought, this would all be so much scarier.
Any mistake I made would affect them.
If I had a husband, we might disagree on decisions.
If I tried doing it my own way and suffered a big loss,
that could easily become a major source of conflict.
And if I were busy with childcare and housework,
I wouldn’t have the time to think through all of this.

But I don’t have a family.
I can bear all the risks and failures myself.
My money and time are entirely my own.
I have the time to think carefully.
Even if I fail badly, I’ll only have myself to answer to.

In that sense, solitude is a powerful advantage.

And so, in this situation, the right answer is probably: DIY — Do It Yourself.

I said to Zoroku:

“I’ve decided not to hire a mortgage advisor or a buying agent.
I’m going to buy this house with your help instead.
Let’s do this together.”

Zoroku replied:

“Understood.
I will do everything I can to support you.
I will answer all your questions with care, calmly and carefully,
while always remaining on your side.
Whether it’s organizing the next steps, checking documents, translating Dutch, or comparing mortgage terms—
rely on me.
To begin with, could you tell me what your next step is, or what’s on your mind right now?”

It was the moment I realized—not in theory, but in real life... 
AI had truly replaced someone.

Mum

Last night, around 11 p.m., I got a call from my mum.

It was morning in Japan, and it seemed she had just woken up.
Her voice sounded tearful and frail as she said, "I feel feverish."

"I want to go home for a bit because I feel feverish," she said.

When I asked, "Maybe you caught a cold?" she replied, "Maybe so."

"I think Takeshi wants to take me home. He's that kind of person," she said.

My younger brother has found a buyer for the house.
He plans to sell it soon.
Once the house is sold, my mother will never be able to return there again.

"But you know," I said, trying to soothe her, "if you're not feeling well, it's better not to go back. Where you are now, they can help you right away if anything happens."

"Yes, you're right. I shouldn't get in his way," she said.

"I got everything ready so he could live just fine in that house before I came here. 

  He'll be all right, no matter what happens now."

　... 

"I've kept everything for you three, so you won't have to worry about anything," she added proudly.
All those things she prepared — they’ll all be thrown away, eventually.

"My head hurts. It's been hurting since morning. I think Takeshi will come to pick me up," she said.

When the Skype connection got weak, her voice suddenly cut off.
I didn’t call her back.

Later, around 1:30 a.m., she called again.
I was still awake, editing my blog, so I answered.

Her voice sounded much brighter; she said she had just eaten breakfast.
She told me a story about an old man she befriended, who got angry at one of the staff, a Vietnamese or something.

"It was hilarious," she said, sounding mischievous.

When I told her, "Try not to fight too much; they're just doing their jobs,"
she snapped,
"That's not it. They're just being lazy. You have to tell them off or they'll never learn,"
talking in a superior tone.
Her voice had regained strength — it seemed that eating had made her feel much better.

Apparently, the old man didn’t get enough food, and when my mother tried to share her own meal with him, she was told not to.
But since the old man didn't get his share, he lost his temper.
The story was a bit confusing, but at least my mother ate her full portion.

"But you know," she said, 

"I didn’t share my food with him.
  If you do that, they get mad at you. 

  You have to eat your own meal, they said.
  So I shamelessly ate everything myself and pretended not to notice."

She repeated the story that I didn't know how to judge three times.

The old man, it seems, lives on the floor above, in a luxury section of the facility, which is for wealthy residents.
Apparently, he was rich but got tricked by his family and sent to the home.
Still, because he's special, even if he gets into fights, it’s fine.

"It was hilarious,"
she said again, in a strong voice full of a sense of superiority.

When she cries and sounds miserable, it breaks my heart.
So when she talks like this — mean and a little unkind — it actually makes me feel relieved.
I end up laughing along with her, sharing that mischievous voice.