On August 9th, 1945, an airplane approached Kokura, a city in the northern part of Kyushu island. My mother, a girl of 9 then, lived in Kokura with her parents. It was a cloudy day at Kokura. The airplane circled above Kokura, looking for a break in the cloud. But the cloud covered the city, and the fuel started to run low.
So the plane went to Nagasaki instead.
If it had not been cloudy over Kokura on that day, my mother would not have lived to meet my father. I would not have been born.
So I owe my existence to the cloud over Kokura on that fateful day.