The Journey Where I Found Myself Erika S. Female, high school student (tenth grade) in Kyoto

I had only two choices. Neither did I like, but I had to choose: to return to Japan or to move to Mexico. I had finished sixth grade in Indiana, U.S.A., and it was time for my dad to move to a new post. Apparently, his next job was assigned in Mexico City. After living in the States for three years, I had finally gotten relaxed and had started to fully enjoy the Western life. The only thought that came into my mind when I was told to choose between Japan and Mexico was that I wanted to become an American. I was not even reluctant to abandon the relationship with my parents. "Why? Why can't I stay in the States?" I desperately stormed my mind to come up with any possible means to cling to the country I thought I loved more than my home country. Sadly, with the mind and power of a sixth grader, the only options that remained were the ones given by my parents.

I thought back to the days when I first moved to the States. Without being able to speak a word with my new classmates, my new life in a new world was almost unbearable. If I had not decided to participate in the local swim team in Indiana, it probably would have been a completely different, raven life. It took me exactly two years to absolutely fit in the circle of the local people, and to welcome in the chances to make myself more recognized in the crowd. The more I thought, the more I recollected the harsh experiences of the first two years. With the shock of having to move away from Indiana, I had no more energy to go to an unfamiliar environment and start all over again.

I chose to move back to Japan. It was a conclusion I came up with after thinking back about the past. I went to my parents to inform the decision I had made. They didn't say a word. After I went back to my room, my mom came in to talk to me.

"Let's go to Mexico with your dad," she said. "I understand your point of view, but think about it. You go back to Japan for junior high and high school. During that time, your dad would be living separately. When he returns to Japan and is able to live with us again, you might be moving out for college. If this happens, when will you be able to live with your dad again?"

At that moment, I realized that my parents had no intentions of giving me any options but to move to Mexico from the start. Just by looking at the way my mom came to talk to me immediately, it seemed as though she had predicted what my choice was going to be, and was ready with her words to convince me. I didn't answer my mom. I knew I had to obey her. Yet after she had left my room, I couldn't help myself hold down the irritation of how my parents stirred my emotions and made me go through such sufferings to make a decision that would be of no use. I wished that they had just ordered me to move to Mexico instead of pretending to give me other options.

I did not cry at the airport. Instead, I used my time to absorb the American culture I admired as much as possible to the very last minute I stood on the grounds of the United States. At that time, I made myself believe that I was an American. With mini shorts, a large T-shirt, a dark tan, and a Jansport black backpack, I kept my head high to make myself look as close as possible to a typical American teenager. However, when I looked at my Japanese passport, it reminded me that no matter how much I tried to "pretend" to be an American, it would always show up as an imitation, and deep down inside of me, my Japanese blood would always be flowing there. I was only copying the attitudes of Americans in place of strongly expressing myself. I was only being a copycat.

My life in Mexico was full of misery and shock. Because of strict, limited rules set by my father's company, we weren't able to make up our life styles freely. First of all, we had limitations on where we could live. Because of this, I was not able to live close to my friends from school. Secondly, the only person in the family who was able to drive a car was my dad. The traffic manners in Mexico City seemed to be too dangerous, and the company didn't want us to take any risks. Furthermore, they ordered us not to take the local transportation to avoid any possibility of burglary. This meant that we were not to exit our houses unless we had particular reasons. The stress of my mom and me got worse and worse.

"You never think about us! We should have never come to live with you in Mexico!!" I always used to scold at my dad for leaving us and taking his job in the first place. People from the American School held parties and went to discos almost every weekend. I was invited to them, but I had to always depend on my dad for the transportation. However, he never came back in time to take me to the parties on time. I soon decided not to trust him to keep the promises he made. As time passed by, it became impossible for me to go along with the life of my American friends at school. Not being able to fit into that group, I looked at the Mexican friends at the swim team I belonged to. However, compared to them, my life was in a higher rank, and I always couldn't put myself in the same position as them. Some of my swim team friends came over to my house, but they always seemed as though they had stepped into a property they were not allowed to be in, and they always kept on repeating that I was rich. It was hard to invite them over to my house or even to go hang out together. I didn't have a place where I felt that I belonged to.

While being lost in a place between the Americans and the Mexicans, I came to a simple question of myself as Japanese.

"What nationality are you? Korean? Chinese?" people would ask me from judging my Asian face features.

"I'm a Japanesec" I answered half annoyed by the fact that they didn't guess I was a Japanese, and I was half ashamed to call myself a Japanese when I honored the States more than my home country. "Why do I keep on demanding hopeless things?" I soon realized that I was getting nowhere except hating myself of being Japanese, a fact that can't be changed. I was only dreaming of "acting" like an American and I was refusing to accept the actual me as Japanese.

"No me gustan los Americanos (I don't like the Americans)." some of my Mexican friends at school told me. To me, it was an unacceptable opinion since I had always thought Americans were perfect.

"Look at how they always think they're the best. They interfere in anything that's other people's business. The Americans never give into other nationalities' ideas. They have a really hard head." At first, I couldn't digest the points of the reasons why those friends disliked the U.S.A.. Then, little by little, I caught on.

At school, we took Spanish classes everyday. Yet there seemed to be few people from the States who were in the higher levels. They kept on speaking English, and even in the public, where it was a Spanish-speaking environment, few of them tried to communicate in Spanish. Studying them, I noticed that I was acting just like them, but worse in the way that I was desperate to hang on to something without any handles or a place to stand. I hated myself because I was born a Japanese, and I was asking to suddenly turn into an American when I still acted as though I knew everything about Japan because I was from there. Every way I thought contradicted with itself.

Since I knew to become an American was out of the question and I started to doubt their positive characteristics, I started to drift into a different way of thinking.

"Ok, when I watch the Olympics, I cheer Japan. When I'm asked where I'm from, I answer Japan. When people are interested in my country, I feel proud. Then, why is there any need to hate Japan?" I asked myself. Now, a little more grown up from the time I moved to Mexico from the States, I was able to calmly analyze my feelings.

I had always been restrained about the thought of "nationalities." However, it finally became clear to me that the most important point was who you are no matter where you're from, but just to have some basis, you needed to accept the culture of your own nation. What was missing in me was that basis of Japanese culture. I decided to master the knowledge of being Japanese, then, combine any points I had learned in other cultures of various countries I had lived in and hopefully will live in.

My chance came. It was time for me to choose to graduate high school in Mexico or to go back to Japan. I was ready with a solid answer: I wanted to return to the nation I was born in. The basis of me would always lie in Japan, but I knew that there was no need to be a "Japanese." Instead, I just needed to be "Erika" who I would be satisfied with.

I left Mexico with bitter memories about the way that I had suffered trying to find the real me. However, I'm confident that the next time I go somewhere, I'll be able to learn about its culture and add it in to an individual identifying herself as "Erika."

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