Feeling Like A Stranger In Your Own Land
by Kei Taichi
O
ften, when I go home to Japan, I feel an emptiness dwell deep inside me. I never feel like I belong there.
I feel like a foreigner... Like a stranger in my homeland.
I hold a Japanese passport, therefore I am Japanese, right? Officially: yes. I am a Japanese citizen, but just
because Japanese blood pumps through my veins and dictates my skin color and facial features, does not
mean that when people take a glance at me, they instantly think “Oh, that person is Japanese.”
Perhaps people react differently to me is because of the fact that I am a half Brazilian with an American
education.
I am Brazilian just as much as I am Japanese, though when I am in my home country (which I consider to be
Japan), I expect to be accepted as Japanese. I want to walk up to a stranger and ask for directions without
being responded to in broken English. I understand where they are coming from, but sometimes I just want
to be acknowledged as a fellow countryman.
Maybe it is my fault. My Japanese is not the best, but I can get by just fine in an overwhelming city like To-
kyo. I can ask people basic questions, I can understand most of what is said, and I can read in hiragana and
katakana (Kanji’s a bit tough, though).
In Japan, half Japanese people are often bullied in schools being called “hapa” (half breed) as a joke. Some-
times hapa means only “half normal.” Japan also has businesses that completely ban foreigners – even half
Japanese foreigners. This shows how some Japanese people feel about foreign people, and it worries me.
Maybe one day, my Japanese will sound fluent through hard work and dedication. Maybe people will no
longer be able to judge this book by its cover.