When I was young, I lived with my dad’s side of the family in Bangkok, but I often visited my mom’s side at my grandparents’ house in Pathum Thani, by the Chao Phraya River. My cousin, who was about three years older than me, was my idol. She was cute, stylish, and everything she did looked perfect to me. So I copied her — every move, every habit, everything I saw. I shadowed her so much that she sometimes felt annoyed, but she never said it directly. She only told the adults, and I didn’t understand why at the time.

One thing she always did was wash her white school sneakers, cover them with white tissue paper, and leave them in the sun to dry. I watched her do this for years, and I thought it was the coolest, most grown‑up thing ever.

One day, when I visited again, I proudly told her, “I did the same thing as you! I covered my sneakers with tissue paper too!”

She burst out laughing and asked, “Why did you do that?”

I answered, “Because I saw you do it, so I did it too!”

She laughed even harder and said, “But your sneakers are BLACK!”

I had no idea what she meant back then. I only understood when I grew up: she covered her white sneakers to protect them from turning yellow in the sun.

Every time we talk about this memory now, we still laugh until our stomachs hurt.

In Thailand, we usually protect each other’s feelings. But in America, people say things straight, even if it might upset someone.