Little “Japanese” Girl
Since I can remember I’ve always been fascinated by the beauty side of Japanese culture, ceremonies, the traditional attire, the cherry blossoms, and all else that falls into that category. But don’t get me wrong, I also know about the dark side of Japanese history, and the meaning of the representation that is behind the rising sun flag—trust me, I know, and I DON’T agree nor am I fascinated about that part of Japanese history. After learning that I had some degree of Japanese in my family bloodline, it made me feel so much excited about it, I don't know why?
Finding this out, I was excited to share with my little classmates, since around the corner there was some cultural event or assignment? I don’t quite remember, but I do remember that I was excited to share. As, the day finally arrived, we were all called on to share something about ourselves and our family history. Everyone was excited and all had pictures or outfits on about their family and cultures. The parents set up a table in the back with different types of foods and treats.
Then it came time to share, and Ah, and here was little steph’s turn to share, I remember standing and walking to the front of the class, holding a little Japanese bamboo plant. I remember everyone’s eyes on me, since I was the only one that brought a physical object that wasn’t a picture or drawing or outfit.
“hi, i’m stephany, in my family history, i learned that from my mom’s side where she lived in Mexico that we are native american, from a tribe called Aztecs, and from my dad’s side we have a little bit of japanese. i wanted to share with you all so i brought a plant that’s popular in Japan for you, I think its called bamboo? Pandas like to eat it! it’s a pretty plant, and it can grow really tall, and it grows all around. So here, is my family history.”
As I walked back towards my seat, I could hear little snickers, and giggles from the other students. Hearing them made me feel like they were making fun of me. And as the rest of the class went on, I learned that majority of them had Spanish history, and a few Guatemalan and Salvadorian history, and white history.
After everyone went, we go to have a little break while the few more parents that showed up and brought homecooked meals got things ready for us to come back to after recess. While on break I had gone to the restroom, and upon returning and the parents had everyone line up and grab a little plate of food that came along with a caparison drink. I made my way to my little table and sat down, upon sitting I realized my little plant was missing. I searched under my desk, around the floor, the table full of pictures and history memorabilia, but my little plant was nowhere to be found.
I kept searching and searching, and eventually I told the teacher that my plant was missing. They helped me look and then at the moment I was feeling the urge to cry outside a loud *CRACK* happened and some kids running inside. As I and the teacher made our way outside, there it was... my broken little plant vase on the floor, all shattered and smooshed and broken.
The teacher asked “What happened to stephany’s plant?”
Student A: “I don’t know”
Student C: “we didn’t mean for it to break”
As they all looked at me with smirks and that fake innocent look. They kept talking but I had zoned them out after a while.
I just looked down at my little plant, I had been so excited and proud to have shared. Yet there it was, broken, stepped on, vase broken. Somehow felt like that was me. I felt sad. So, heart sunken. Yet so much rage.
The teacher told us to go back inside and sided with the students, mentioning that they didn’t mean to drop my little plant that "it was an accident". As they showed innocent sad faces in front of the teacher and when her back was turned they made faces at me and the giggling occurred. I went to sit at my desk and tried to eat the food that I was given but I had no appetite since it looked like it had been messed with and my juice was all drunken up and crumbled next to the plate.
After a few days passed, and while the day passed and I had come back from Child Therapy, it was time for recess, after those sessions I wasn’t really all there much, but that day I wasn’t particularly feeling good—as in health wise, not from the session. So, I was sitting by the sandbox underneath a tree, trying to catch my breath. When suddenly a few of the annoying kids showed up to “play” around the sandbox and began making fun of me, calling me names, threw sand at me and make the air all dusty and made faces at me by slanting their eyes with their fingertips creating what they assumed referenced an Asian face, it continued till break was over.
I was so tired. I honestly just wanted them to go away. I just wanted to be left alone. I couldn’t breathe well, I felt like I was dying from all the dust surrounding me. In that moment, I was okay with dying. At least I’d be free from all the bullying and teasing.
After all that, I never shared about my Japanese history ever again. I always felt like if I shared it I'd be teased and made fun of again. So why would I put myself through that again? But, as I grew up if I ever did share with someone about my small Japanese percentage it was because I trusted them, and felt comfortable enough to share, because I knew I wouldn’t be made fun of or teased—yet somehow, I still did. And that’s okay they don’t or well didn’t know about all this, so I can’t blame or get upset with them. So just know its okay.
Little note: funny thing about thinking back to this story, is that I swore I'd never get a little bamboo for myself ever again, and guess what happened this year (2025) for my birthday I was gifted one, and truth be told, I never felt so happy for a little plant before. so thank you for the gift V.
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