Maruko, who struggled with kanji and preferred manga with pictures, was intrigued. She convinced her long-suffering sister, Sakiko, to help her set up the old VCR. The TV flickered to black and white.
Desperate, Maruko raided the closet in her grandparents’ room. Buried under a badminton set with no net and a box of sparklers that had gotten wet, she found it: a black plastic VHS tape with a peeling white label. In faded pen, it read: “Le Ballon Rouge (1960) – French. NO DUB. Jp Sub.” Chibi Maruko Chan Japanese Subtitle
That evening, at dinner, Maruko was uncharacteristically quiet. Her mother, Hiroko, worried she had a fever. Her father, Hiroshi, wondered if she’d broken something. Maruko, who struggled with kanji and preferred manga
“I will tomorrow,” Maruko said. “Because I realized something. Friendship has no shape. But it’s heavier than a million red balloons. And you don’t need subtitles to understand it.” Desperate, Maruko raided the closet in her grandparents’
For the next twenty minutes, the Sakura living room became a strange classroom. Maruko would watch a beautiful, silent image—the boy following the balloon, the balloon escaping—then pause the tape with a loud clunk . She would lean inches from the screen, her finger tracing the subtitles.
(“Only those who know true loneliness can find true freedom.”)
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever read,” Maruko whispered, sniffling. “Worse than when I dropped my last piece of natto.”