I stumbled upon a small ramen shop in Shinjuku, the steaming hot bowl in front of me a mystery. I pulled out my phone to use Google Translate to decipher the menu, but the owner, an elderly man with a kind smile, took it from me and began to explain in broken English.
The Language Barrier
As I struggled to understand, a young woman with a bright pink haircut intervened, effortlessly translating between us. I realized that sometimes, it’s not the language that’s the barrier, but our own assumptions.
- The sounds of sizzling meat and lively chatter filled the air
- The smell of rich tonkotsu broth wafted through the streets
- The visuals of neon signs and towering skyscrapers blurred together
