More about me.

As mentioned before, my name is Il-Sung Sato.

I was born in 1986 in Baltimore, Maryland, to a Japanese father and English mother, who met through Sun Myung Moon's Unification Church - it's a hell of a story, and sadly one that I've not taken the time to hear often enough from my parents.

From the age of 2 I grew up in London with my 3 younger siblings; two sisters and a brother. I don't want to put too much about them on here without their permission, so for now I will only say they are a kind, quirky and loving bunch. If you ever get the chance to get to know one of them I highly recommend it.

We lived the majority of our young lives in Northwest London. Mum would mostly stay home and do her best to wrangle 4 increasingly unruly kids into some semblance of order, dad would go to work for a Japanese company that asked unreasonable hours.

Somehow they made it work, and while there were a few mishaps along the way, I now realise as an adult myself that they gave what they could and raised us to the best of their knowledge. Looking at my siblings, and the man I've become since meeting Anthea and since my son was born, I think they did a good job.

My youth followed a fairly normal pattern; school during the week, church on Sundays, and home life in-between.

Special occasions included holiday get togethers with my extended British family, church trips/summer camps, and even the odd trip to Japan.

While most of the day to day fades away there are certain moments that stand out, gleaming in my memory. These experience, whether good or bad, punctuate the rich tapestry of my life. I am now grateful for everything single one of them.

Memories like:

My mother's orangutan impression, her comforting home cooking, her hugs. My guilt at being a bad son at times.

My father playing 'martial arts' with me as a small child, his large rimmed glasses that I started using despite not actually being my prescription, the feeling of his hand squeezing my shoulder during an apology.

My grandmother playing the harmonica, her cucumber sandwiches, seeing her in hospice one last time before cancer took her and being shocked at how small she seemed.

My grandfather's huge collection of books, the wooden elephants he carved for me and the time he asked me if I still played rugby, with a pen and paper because Parkinson's took his ability to speak - I said yes and scurried away, unsure how to communicate with someone with Parkinson's, I wish I had made more effort.

Grandma Gill always having the 'good icecream' (Haagen Daas Vanilla) for us when we visited, how magnificent her handwriting is, how I never felt like I wasn't one of her grandkids.

My Oji-San picking us up from the airport when we visited Japan for the first time, him chasing me around a table in his living room, him wearing a bandana and cushion around his head because it helped him with his headaches.

My Oba-san and how she would cook anything we even remotely said we liked, her nervousness when I bought two replica swords and waved then around her house like an idiot. How quickly she took to Anthea when she met her.

Uncle Simon's shock of remaining hair on his head, how tall he was and the pinball machine he had in his attic. Auntie Sylvia's love of ghost stories and how, when she found out I liked them to, she sent me a book out of the blue hoping I'd enjoy it.

Visiting Aunty Ginny and sneaking into my cousin's rooms to marvel at their computer and video games (on floppy disk!) and 'borrow' their vest and hat to pose like a cowboy.

Yoko Oba-san's, and my entire Japanese family's unfailing kindness when we used to visit them.

Playing Sonic with my sister Il-Shim on the master system and making up lyrics to the music, seeing her around secondary school and hoping that she wasn't lonely, seeing her with my son Charlie and realising how amazing she is.

Singing Christmas carols with my sister Ikki for our gathered relatives, hearing her practice Pie Iesus, sincerely worrying about her when she was struggling with stress.

Picking up Kaz as a young child, being proud of him when watching his drama performances, wishing I had spent more time getting to know him.

All these and so much more.

Wonderful times with friends, family...

And Anthea & Charlie, the two people who mean the most to me in this entire world.

It breaks my heart to think that they'll disappear when I die.

Memories of Charlie laughing and looking at bubbles I had blown for him, the light bouncing off them. Memories of Anthea and I curled up on the sofa, watching nonsense TV, just enjoying each other's company. God I wish I told her how beautiful she was every chance I got, and wish I had held Charlie every chance I got.

If miracles do exist, I will.