I look out the window and sigh at the beauty of a Japanese spring morning, with the soft sun casting a sheen on the new green leaves, and mottled shadows shifting gently on the sandy earth. I am enjoying a quiet moment in the early morning, while the rest of the household is still asleep. It feels so strange to be back in Japan, in this unfamiliar house in Shukugawa. Shanghai now seems a lifetime away, yet it was just over a week ago that we sailed off from the chaotic pier.

It was still dark when we were loaded on to the back of an American army truck, along with several other families laden with heavy rucksacks, to be taken to the Whangpoo docks. Thankfully, it was cool enough to wear all our best clothes in layers, as we were desperate to take back as much as possible. By the time we joined the queue to get our luggage inspected, day had broken, casting greyness all around us. The weather seemed to be reflecting our mood, and the gloomy atmosphere was enhanced by the severe expressions of the inspectors, a row of three Chinese military officers, silently going through people's possessions.

I felt my palms getting sweaty as we inched forward, and each time an item from someone's luggage was cast aside to the ‘confiscation’ pile, my stomach churned. In my own bag, I had packed a small packet of antibiotics, handed to me by a doctor friend of Akira’s, at Akria's insistence. He had said we would never be able to obtain it in Japan and I should save it for emergencies.

When it came to our turn, Hiro's rucksack was the first to be opened. I had helped with his packing, and was confident that there was nothing there to cause a problem. But when the inspector stuck in his arm and rummaged around, to my surprise, he pulled out two golf balls! Hiro must have snuck them in at the last minute. The inspector immediately confiscated the balls, and perhaps astounded by the temerity of packing so useless an item, swiftly pulled off Hiro's beautiful camelhair coat.