The Body Remembers Care

Self‑Mothering Playlist →

I’ve often wondered why I’ve felt a certain pull—an attraction, a tenderness—toward Japanese women. And more recently, Thai women too. It never felt entirely sexual. And I’ve always known, underneath, it was about something else. Something older. Something quieter.

And now I think I understand it.

When I was in primary school, my best friend was Japanese. And his mother—she looked after me in a way I didn’t know I needed. She covered me, loved me, offered a kind of warmth and emotional generosity that I wasn’t getting at home. And even though I couldn’t name it back then, my body knew.

It felt safe. It felt held. It felt like love.

And that kind of safety leaves a mark.

It wasn’t about culture in any intellectual way. As a child, I didn’t know the difference between Thai and Japanese cultures. I just felt love from someone who looked a little different than me. Someone who moved through the world gently. Who welcomed me. Who held space for me without trying to change me.

That’s what I think my body remembers.

That’s what I think I still search for—sometimes without knowing it.

Not a type. Not a fantasy.
But a feeling.
A memory of being loved. When I needed it most.

The mind can forget. The logic can tell you what “makes sense.” But the nervous system remembers.
And often, what we’re drawn to—who we’re drawn to—has less to do with desire, and more to do with safety.
With care.
With connection.
With a moment in childhood where something finally felt okay.

That’s what this is.
It’s not complicated.
It’s not shameful.
It’s just the body remembering care.