About Me

About Me

I decided to start my own website here since I enjoy writing in general and it means a lot to me to do so in English as my voice can reach to the global audience.

My name is Kiara Belle. I am from Japan, went to college in the United States and currently reside in Germany. Although I am a Japanese-English translator and I have taught both languages, I have to admit that I still tend to make crazy odd mistakes in English at times, which can be disturbing to some readers. And, I hope this website helps me to improve my writing skills in English as well, and your feedback on anything is greatly appreciated.

I have no idea how this website turns out to be, but I hope I can come up with the interesting pieces that can entertain you.

Xo, K

Kiara Belle

Kiara Belle

© 2015 Kiara Belle * To subscribe on your Kindle, please click HERE!!!

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Daily Life, nonfiction

The Shot of Espresso Macchiato in Italy Tells It All About Happiness

I have written an article about how much the power of a cup of good coffee contributes to the feelings of happiness before. I also mentioned that my deepest love for coffee started ever since I had a shot of great espresso when I visited Paris for the first time when I was twenty. The exact feeling still stays the same till this day.

Living in Europe for about 8 years in total, finding a cup of good coffee through traveling various places in Europe completely became my greatest joy of everything. I had the amazing opportunities to travel to Rome, Florence and Paris last and this week on vacation and I entertained myself so much, going to different cafes and trying different coffee every single day in Italy and France.

At La Casa Del Caffe in Rome, I finally found the one. The very best coffee I ever had in my life.

As soon as I entered the cafe filled with tourists and locals, I ordered and paid for a shot of espresso macchiato and received the receipt at the cashier. As I handed the receipt to the barista, he promptly placed a tiny saucer and a spoon on the counter right in front of me and hurried his way back to the prestigious-looking coffee machine where the greatest creation was formed with pride.

Within a minute or two, the cute espresso cup filled with the coffee with the drops of milk on top was on the saucer. The taste was just so heavenly- the creaminess of the milk softly wrapped the rich flavor of the coffee. No sugar or anything else was necessary. Just amazing!!! It was the exact moment I truly thought I was the happiest person on earth. I really don’t think I was the only one who felt this way. 

The very next day, I returned to the cafe and tried the cappuccino this time, which was absolutely fascinating also.

Where did you have your best coffee in your life? Have a happy life with coffee, everyone!!!

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Daily Life, nonfiction

The Part of Me as a Language Instructor

I just wondered if it would be interesting to write about my work a little. I have been working as a Japanese language instructor for some private language school for quite a while here in Germany.  I teach both directly at the classroom of the school and at the students’ companies. Majority of my lessons are for complete beginners, but I cover every level, including the native level. Most sign up as they are getting transferred to Japan near the future and some participate due to the urgent need of improvement of the language at their work. And I truly love every minute of my teaching path.

Most of my students are Europeans and it is always entertaining to see their reaction when they face the language for the first time. They always have the particular look of shock on their faces mixed with excitement and nervousness because compared to the major European languages they are familiar with, Japanese is just way more different, sometimes even beyond their imagination. Yes, the key is different, not difficult. And when they start to learn Japanese characters, the class becomes sort of like an art project, practicing drawings. The courses that start with memorizing the greeting words finish with my students holding solid conversations in Japanese in less than six months or so. What is not fantastic about being a part of the process? If you are a teacher, you know exactly what I am talking about.

The sad thing is though, it seems I must quit this lovely job by this summer. Our fate is calling us to move to the U.S.. We have no idea which state, yet, but I am desperately praying and hoping that I still get to teach somewhere. It will be more than delightful if I could teach in person, and I am also considering teaching online as well as creating podcast that contains short Japanese lessons, making my own textbooks or even doing something on YouTube although there are already so many similar things available. The hardest part is always marketing, isn’t it?

If you are a Japanese learner, please feel free to ask me any questions. And if you feel like you need extra help to improve your Japanese, how can I help you? And if you are already a successful self-employed teacher? What is your story? I’m dying to know everything.

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Daily Life, nonfiction, Random Thoughts

Happiness Is Simple

Time flies fast. This year is about to end in four days. How do you summarize this year? Do you think you had many events that could make you feel happy? I truly hope so.

When it comes to how you define happiness, it reflects the perspective of how you see your own life. How do you observe your own life and what could make you happy?

I lost my mother over two years ago after the battle with the terminal stage of cancer. The last year of her life became my ultimate source to redefine happiness in my life. She was the master of finding happiness through the simplest events of her daily life.

She was happy because the sun was shining and the flowers outside bloomed. The pleasant way some neighbor said hello to her made her smile, and the good taste of the caffe latte in the cafeteria of the hospital made her day during her chemotherapy. When she lost all of her hair, she started going to the nail salon and sent me the photos of her nails every month with excitement. Since before and even after the discovery of the cancer, that part of her remained as her charm that could make her radiant until severe dimentia caused by malignant brain tumour killed who she really was. She constantly showed gratitude towards the simplest factors that occurred in her everyday life, and she lived her 58 years of her life to the fullest. Happiness was indeed ubiquitous. 

I am forever grateful for having her as my mother, and after losing her and turning thirty without her, I feel like I finally became a few steps closer to the way she observed her life. It takes time and strength for one to become positive and optimistic like her. I am certain that she also had her own process that made her who she was. At the same time, through witnessing her life and death, I realized life was too short to regret and to feel sad. It is better to cherish your each and every day because you never know when you die.

I loved every cup of my coffee in the morning, am content that I met new amazing people through work, had fun traveling different places, read a few good books, had some good hot wine on Christmas markets, and a few days ago, my student surprised me with a slice of brownie he baked, and my husband is peacefully snoring on the couch as I write this. I guess I am able to conclude that I had a pretty good year this year.

May all of you be blessed even more with lots of happiness in the coming new year.

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Creative Writing, Poetry

Inside the Limpid Box of Isolation

The Soul selects her own Society—
Then–shuts the Door–
To her divine Majority—
Present no more—
– Emily Dickinson

Wherever the lady traveled, whenever she stayed,
The box, invisible to everybody else’s eyes,
Surrounded her body from her head to toes.

The men who saw her brown long hair and brown
Eyes led by her casual smile
Told to people, she was the pronoun for beauty.

The women who glanced at her well-grown bosom
Underneath her red dress
Shouted to the world, she was promiscuous.

Inside the limpid box, her passion burned.
She reached her hands to the brush and the pallet
And depicted her bare heart on the canvas, alone in the
Basement. With yellow and white, she painted the full
Moon symbolizing her love that would never to die.
Behind the full moon, she painted the sky

Of black shaped after her hatred towards the man and herself.
She was abandoned into the emptiness, in pained, which
Nobody else would ever to unvail.

After the three decades of seasons, the lady,
With her own hands, ended her life, when the cold
Rain drops colored the January morning and melted the box.

© 2016 Kiara Belle

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Creative Writing, Poetry

The Definition of A Poem When I Was Twenty

A poem is…

Something like,
The sounds of rain during June,
The red glow in the morning sky on the New Year Day,
The tears of last night,
The very first heartbreak at the age of fifteen-

Or
When
The moments,
The emotions and even
The senses are
Transformed into words and
Meet the rhythm of a language,

Or
When
Somebody addresses the words
As beauty and elegance.

However,
The truth is I still do not know
What a poem is.

So please, just let it be
So undefined and
So unnamed.

Yes,
Just let it be the riddle
Extended to eternity.

© 2016 Kiara Belle

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nonfiction

My Two Grandfathers and the World War II

Today is August 12th, three more days until the 15th. The thought sometimes occurs to me that I would probably not exist in this world if the war did not end on that day in Japan.

Being married to an American, I always have mixed feelings to talk about the war. His side of the story and my side of the story seem to end up hurting each other. We reluctantly conclude that it was the rough time beyond our imaginations. We have watched Letters from Iwo Jima and Flags of Our Fathers, but it does not mean that we have experienced the war. The truth is that we have no idea what they have been through. When I think that way, my mind automatically shifts to my two grandfathers in Japan who survived the war when they were teenagers.

My paternal grandfather was 14 years old at that time, volunteered to serve as a Kamikaze pilot, waiting for his order to be sent abroad anytime to accomplish his ultimate mission. My maternal grandfather was 18 and supposed to be drafted two weeks later. Both of them had unquestionable faith in our country and were more than prepared to dedicate and sacrifice their own lives for Japan. Then our emperor announced the end of the war, thus their lives were extended by decades.

I remember I was sitting in the passenger seat and randomly brought the topic up during the long drive from New York to Boston exactly 8 years ago just to kill the boredom and because it was the time the war ended years ago. Then, the driver, who happened to be an American writer and a professor, replied, “It’s your perfect topic of your book to write about,” as if he got some kind of epiphany, but I shamelessly argued, “I don’t want any of my works to be categorized as the minor genre of Asian literature.” Then he added that my background could be the variable strength in my writings that no ordinary Americans could have.

I am still skeptical of his comment although the idea stayed in my head ever since then. My ignorance and lack of the actual experience of the war and the fear to face the reactions of the patriotic Americans kept preventing myself from writing about them. However, I started to think recently that it might actually be interesting to write about them not to sell the Asian-ness in me as a writer but to honor the lives of my grandfathers.

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Daily Life, nonfiction, Random Thoughts

The Magical World

Approximately one more year remains in Germany. Most of the time, I try my very best not to think of the inevitable fact. I just let time pass by, focusing on the daily routines that do not seem to possess that much significance. But some cups of coffee and some train rides and some ordinary conversations later, the feeling of void that resembles heartbreak always ends up coming back. It is like the relationship that you are in that you know it is ending. Please don’t let me leave you.

Life can be funny indeed. I wonder how many of you are actually living the lives you dreamed of when you were ten years old. When I was ten, I was daydreaming that once I stepped out of Japan, the magical world filled with nothing but happiness awaited.

And the reality was dead wrong. To be honest, things could have been much easier if I stayed in Japan although it does not necessarily mean that could make me happier. I have lived in the United States, France and Portugal before my fate sent me to Germany. Five years ago, my life here started with zero German knowledge and zero friend. And five years later, the world became somewhat magical filled with a plenty of happiness. I wonder how the ten year-old me sees me now.

Germany already became my home and a big part of me, but again, I will have to let my fate decide where I am going next. I am not too hopeful because I am not ten anymore, but I have come to learn that it is up to me to make the world magical no matter where that is.

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Creative Writing, fiction, Short story

Last Night

What have I done?

She wakes up, feeling the huge pang of regret. This is certainly not about hangover. This is not about one-night stand, either. She wishes things were simpler like that. She has gotten over those sorts of craziness when she was twenty-three. Really.

The dazzling summer sunlight that enters her bedroom window does nothing to uplift her mind. But, maturity she has acquired over the years prevents her from crying. “Tears based on your unstable emotions are the only privilege of a teenager,” she thinks to herself. Negative feelings won’t solve anything.

She drinks a big mug of black coffee, desperately hoping that the act completely changes her mood for the better like a shot of tequila, though she is damn sure that won’t undo what she has done last night.

She brushes her teeth, washes her face, gets dressed, puts her makeup on, ties her hair, a ponytail, to hide the necessity to get a haircut and wears her favorite Pandora bracelet and Tag Heuer watch: her lucky charms. May today be a good day!!!

As she walks to the station, her unconscious thoughts automatically replay last night. Instead, she tries to focus on the beauty of the green leaves of the trees on the streets and watches people walking by and wonders why not many women wear skirts here in Germany when a majority of them seem to have tall amazing figures that fit perfectly in cute summer dresses.

She sits comfortably on S-bahn train and looks at Rhein River from the window, which is the very moment she feels truly grateful for her life in Germany. She loves how the water shines, reflecting the beam of the sun. Positive energy fully charged. It does not mean that she is dying from the terminal stage of cancer like her mother. Maybe, her mother IS the sunshine. So, come on, let it go.

As the train goes underground approaching Frankfurt, she looks at herself through the window. The fingers on her lap are still tightly crossed. Three stops later, she gets up and walks towards the city center with the mass amount of tall people. She voicelessly whispers to herself, I can handle this.

© 2016 Kiara Belle * To subscribe on your Kindle, please click HERE!!!

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nonfiction, Random Thoughts

That Dark Juvenile Time

When I was a teenager, there was the period that I thought it was for the best if I ended my own life. I was afraid of people, responsibilities, future: practically everything. I thought the world would be better off without me. I stopped eating for months and cried endlessly because of my own despair I had created.

What saved me from the dismal selfish period was keeping journals. I turned to the healing ability of words. I felt as though I made the ultimate beauty when I described every negative sad emotion of mine on a paper. Thinking back, I was too ignorant to appreciate how fortunate I had been that I had my own bedroom and food to eat. The spoiled brat, who did not know anything about the reality of living, best described who I really was.

Now I have a job that demands the skills to face people. I am responsible for many things and I have the future I want to live. I eat a lot and I don’t cry anymore. And I learned to be grateful for everything and everybody around me. I did grow up, just like everybody else. But, almost two decades later, I still recall that era at times. Its memory deeply haunts me still and I keep on questioning myself why.

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Daily Life, Random Thoughts

The Road Not Taken

Today is one of the rare days I don’t have to work. I slowly sip a big mug of coffee for breakfast, reading random newspaper articles on the Internet in Japanese. I clean the bathroom, take some bio trash out and walk to the station to mail some documents off to my tax accountant’s office in northern Germany. I buy an amazing sandwich at the bakery of the station- the French bread filled with fresh Parmesan and rucola. I walk back home and start to cook some decent supper- homemade patty from scratch with the sauteed mushroom sauce, hoping it turns out to be so good and my husband loves it. I exercise for an hour in the backroom then plan what to teach tomorrow while I wait for him to come home from work. Does anything I do today somewhat make me be a good housewife? Or does he feel that way? Am I still a big part of his happiness? 

And at the same time, I wonder why I am not in New York City right now, pursuing my MFA degree or working as a professional interpreter or something like that. And then again I think to myself how happy I am here in Germany. I wonder if I ever had different paths to take. 

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