Yoshi is 62.
He is Japanese. He comes from Kobe.
He came to France to improve his French. He wishes to go to Africa and help the populations in danger.
He is retired.
In Japan, he used to work in a hospital, he was a biologist.
His wife stayed in Japan. He is alone in Paris.
This morning in class, we worked on a game that is called, in French, un portrait chinois, which consists in defining yourself through images:
If he was a landscape, Yoshi would be a mountain. If he was a season, he would be Springtime, because he loves when cherries blossom. If he was a room, he would be the rooftop of his house, this way he could protect his wife and his house would be safe. If he was a place, he would be a forest, because he likes calmness and tranquility.
Yoshi had three children, but only one is still alive.
Two days ago, I asked him to make a sentence to express a wish. He said: Je souhaite qu'il soit heureux à jamais (I wish for him to be happy forever and ever).
I will probably never see Yoshi again. But something in him deeply moved me. Sometimes people can affect your life and sometimes — most of the time —, they will not even know it. This is the beauty of this world, and the beauty of my job.