When I’m eating something considered a basic food in Japan—far simpler than anything most Japanese people eat, plain rice, let’s say—I look at it and wonder how many meals it would provide in North Korea. And not just how many meals, but how many days of meals. The trouble is, such thoughts make it impossible for me to eat because my heart swells with grief. So when I feel that way, do you know what I do? I go to the ocean and toss the rest to the seagulls. I want to give this food to my family in North Korea. But I can’t. So I entrust it to the seagulls. And in my heart, they carry it off to
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