Haruka

The highlight of my school days, at the moment, is a little girl called Haruka.

Haruka is twelve years old, and she has Downs Syndrome. I have a much loved aunt with the same condition, so I had a special fondness for this little girl from the beginning and - when I was feeling homesick - found myself seeking her out. They`re similar in that they`re both extremely cheeky, and take immense delight in being as naughty as possible, as often as possible. I went swimming with my aunt a couple of years ago, and - on seeing that I had put my swimming goggles and swimming cap on the side of the pool - she waited until I had swum to the other side, deftly climbed out of the pool, walked over to my belongings and kicked them straight into the deep end, giggling furiously. Haruka, similarly, dragged Harai into the staff room a few days ago, wrapped in yellow tape: she had wound him in it so tightly that the poor man was waddling like a penguin, and had to be cut out of it. Haruka also has a habit of cheating when we`re playing games - she never lets Harai win, for instance, even when he`s winning - and although it`s been a number of years since I played Monopoly with my family, I seem to remember my aunt moving pieces when everybody was looking in another direction.

My attachment to Haruka is more than mutual, luckily: she adores me. She will run - full pelt - down a corridor to see me; her face lights up if I walk past; if she`s in a foul mood and nobody can control her, the staff come and get me because I`m the only person she listens to. Harai and I teach her English, and she will only repeat words if I say them: will use exactly the same tone (I was embarrassed to discover that her incredibly high pitched "hi!" in the mornings was an exact copy of my own). If we play card games, she smacks Harai if he wins, wrestles the card from him and then hands it to me: telling me, very sternly, not to lose again, and then patting me on the head. She makes me little cards, she has assigned me the blonde anime character on her pencil case, has introduced me very formally to her imaginary friend, and she`s constantly petting me: stroking my jumper, brushing my hair out of my eyes, telling me I`m pretty. It is, in short, the most loved I feel in Japan.

I keep waiting for it to disappear, which tells you everything you need to know about my feelings towards love: I keep waiting for her to stop. Every morning, I wait with an anxious stomach for her to see me, shrug, and turn away: for me to no longer be of interest. But she never does. Every single morning, without fail, her face lights up, she throws my own Hi! at me, and then she launches herself at my stomach. And it doesn`t matter how awful my hair is looking, or how terrible my outfit is, or how grumpy I am: Haruka will find something about me that she loves. A random curl, or a scarf, or a pair of tights. The colour of my eyes. And she will throw her arms around my waist, bury her little head in my stomach and give me the biggest hug I get outside of England. And in a country where affection is so limited, and where love is so reserved, Haruka is the person who gives me the warmth I crave so desperately. She`s the only person in the whole country who can change my mood entirely within three seconds.

She came in twenty minutes ago, and - jumping up and down with excitement because she had found me - threw her arms around me and told me I was beautiful. And I very nearly burst into tears. Instead I gave her a cuddle back, and then - because it`s the only way I know of showing affection across the language barrier - I gave her five stickers. Which delighted her so much that she promptly came back five minutes ago and took another three.

For the last year, since my break up, I know I`ve been getting icier and icier: less and less open to love, and affection, and showing anybody I care. But Haruka makes sure that the old me - the warm blooded, loving part - doesn`t die completely. And she reminds me that sometimes love doesn`t go anywhere: that sometimes it`s there every morning, even if you don`t expect it, and even if you don`t deserve it. Even if your stomach is tied in knots, waiting for it to end.

And for that - and for having such a wonderful, affectionate, mischievous spirit, for reminding me of my family and for tying Harai in yellow tape - Haruka is always the best thing about my day.