Same There, Different Here
Adventures of a Cross-Culture, Mixed Kid
Kabuto Mushi
I went to Japan for the first time when I was six. Summer in Japan is full of festivals, fireworks, food and in my case making new friends. My obaachan (grandmother) arranged for my brother and I to play with her employee’s children. We were dropped off to play and our new friends took us hunting for kabuto mushi. Armed with our plastic pales and nets we scoured the dirt patches and tall grass in nearby parks for our prize. After a bit of searching, my brother found a large reddish-brown beetle with a long horn. It was the strangest insect I had ever seen. A few minutes later another kid found one and suddenly everyone became really excited.
A kid told my brother to take out his out beetle from our plastic container. As everyone squatted down in a circle, someone brought a branch and placed both beetles on opposing ends.
“Yoi don!” (ready,set,go), the oldest kid and ringmaster said.
Suddenly, everyone erupted and cheered on our little beetles as they fought. Minutes later, our prized kabuto mushi was defeated and both were collected into the other kids plastic pale. Winner takes your beetle as a prisoner. My brother was upset but it was time for lunch and we had to head back.
That summer, we hung out with the kabuto mushi gang almost every day. We rode bikes, collected more strange insects, watched Doraemon and fought over which Power Ranger we were in our mock fights (I was always the Pink Ranger).
It never occurred to me that I wasn't like others. We all ate ramen for lunch and kakigori for dessert, watched fireworks at the festivals and threw up our “peesu” signs in photos. We were all the same weren't we?
At the end of the summer,we flew back to the U.S. and on the plane ride my mother said, “Nihongo jouzu ni natta na!” ( You’re Japanese has really improved!). I beamed. When my father picked us up from SFO and I regaled him with stories of my adventures in Japan the entire car ride home.
You are blessed
Month late, riding in the back seat of our wood paneled station wagon, my father turned to my brother and I and said, “ You are both blessed. You are blessed because you come from a Nigerian father and a Japanese mother. Don’t ever forget how lucky you are.” It never occurred to me that I wasn't blessed. I suppose in some way I knew that my classmates had two parents who looked the same but I never thought about it.
“Do you understand?”
“We are blessed!” I repeated enthusiastically. I didn't want my father to think I was ungrateful for such an honor.
The light changed, he turned and we coasted down the steep hill. In the distance my eye caught the large rainbow flag waving and welcoming us to our neighborhood.
New Girl
On my first day of Junior High I was late. Jojo, our Rottweiler-German Shepherd, escaped and ran into another neighborhood. I attempted to catch him and ended up chasing him for blocks in my new uniform and socks. After I caught Jojo, my stiff, white sailor top was sweaty and my mid-calf plaid skirt was speckled with dirt.
As I dragged Jojo into the house, my mother yelled, “Jikan nai yo!” (you don’t have time) from the kitchen. I went to school sweaty and dirty.
I walked into class embarrassed and a few kids looked up at me curiously.
“Your name?” the teacher asked.
“Saeko Appah,” I said.
“Alexandria Appah?” she said.
“Yes,” I cringed. No one ever called me by my “American” name.
“Ok, Alexandria. Please take a seat over there,” she instructed.
I wanted to correct her but since I was late so I said nothing and sat down.
Lunch
Lunch came around and I sat with a few girls. In my lunchbox was left over tonnkatsu and curry from last night.
“What’s that?” a blonde girl asked with a scrunched face as she stared at my Hello Kitty lunch box and unwrapped her peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“Tonkatsu and curry” I said matter-of-factly.
“Ton-what? It smells weird. Guys, look at what Alexandria has for lunch. Eww.”
“My name is Saeko,” I said, trying to set the record straight.
“Psycho? Are you a crazy person? What kind of name is that?”
I wanted to correct her but I was the new girl. I could already see the hierarchy of the clicks my new school. I was different.
I didn't realize it then but that day was the first day in a long journey to remember that “I am blessed”. I spent all of Junior High trying to fit in. I chemically relaxed my curly hair and had my mother cut straight bangs. It was tragic to say the least. I started to use “like” Every.Other.Word. Which drove my father insane. I ask my father if I could be on cheerleading team with the other popular girls.
“Ah-ahh. What do you want to be a pom-pom girl for huh? You need to focus on your studies.Don’t try to be like everyone. Be yourself!” his voice boomed in his Nigerian accent.
It wouldn't be until my 20s when I graduated from college and received a fellowship at a renowned polymer chemistry lab in Japan that finally began to embraced my father’s words and realized how lucky I really am.
This piece is a work in progress. I’d appreciate any thoughts or feedback from the Medium community. If you enjoyed the story, I humbly ask you hit “recommend” at the bottom. Thanks!
