The Pain in Black Water
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I stood there staring at the black water in the bathroom sink. This isn’t the first time I’ve grabbed a bottle of hair dye and ran it through my hair just because I could; I guess you could say I’m not happy with my appearance… but it’s more than that. It’s more than just the way I look.
I am one of those ‘one-in-a-million’ Australian born Caucasians adopted by an Asian family. My siblings are all Japanese and I am from English decent with cocoa brown hair and eyes a light shade of gray that if looked at on the wrong angle; almost look transparent. As I looked in the mirror I saw curly black hair down to my waist and panda eyes. I picked up that hair dryer and started the long process that would make me look Japanese. But as I said, this wasn’t the first time I had picked up the cheapest hair dye off the shelf from Priceline.
Two years prior to today, I had come home from school bawling my eyes out. Why? Well I wouldn’t tell Evelyn anything as we took the bus home; she didn’t question my actions and she even followed me when I bought the platinum blonde dye; not even asking why it was that I bought it. When we got home I locked myself in our room not wanting to come out, eventually I unlocked the door and surfaced at about 9pm. I could hear Evelyn speaking fluent Japanese to Haha, trying to explain what was going on; even though she didn’t know herself.
The next day when I turned up at school I had platinum blonde hair. Why? Because I was sick and tired of being the weirdo from in a Japanese family and not fitting in, in the community called school. School was everything to me. I wanted to fit in so much that it got to the point of believing that if I changed my appearance and looked the way they did; I’d be accepted into the group I wished to be a part of. At home I stood out like a sheep in a pigpen; it was obvious that I was not really part of the family, no matter how hard I tried to be like them. So at school it meant a lot to me to fit in amongst me fellow peers because at school; at least I looked like them.
Speaking fluent Japanese never helped. These girls were all blonde bimbos with no complexity in their lives. I loved it. I loved them. But when I got to school the next day they all looked at me as if I was a disease that they might catch if they stood too close. I gave up trying to fit into that community that day, I gave up caring what they thought about me and hung out with Evelyn and her friends for weeks on end until I worked out who i was and what I wanted.
From that day forth I decided that family was the most important thing in my life because I cannot escape it; so I might as well embrace it. I came from a family of three children, me being the middle and my two sisters both being Japanese. Both my adopted parents were born here in Australia, but they new how important it was to stay in touch with who you are so they brought us all up with a mother tongue of Japanese and then taught us English. They did this so we could speak both and be able to communicate with our grandparents and the elders in the community that we spent our weekends and holidays with. I was Japanese, but I didn’t look it. This didn’t bother me though because I new my family loved me and I felt special among ‘my people’ being different, yet never being treated differently which is what I loved the most. But there was one thing that my Haha always did to make sure that I knew who I was and that I kept in touch with it; she would take me out to places that were distinctively English so that I remembered that yes, I was every bit Japanese and my sisters, but I was also that little bit different. When she took me to these places she had this look in her eyes that said she was proud to have me and that no matter how different we really were; she loved every bit of me.
***
But today was just one of those days when none of it mattered. I looked in the mirror and wasn’t quite sure what it was I saw. Why did I feel Japanese and not look it? Why did my adoptive parents want me and why did my biological parents NOT want me?
A single black tear ran down my cheek as I thought all of these things. I wanted to make my parents so proud of me, but I also wanted to be able to walk down the street and not feel as if I do not belong with them. My hair was dead straight and the tear had just ruined the makeup I had applied. I had given myself ‘asian eyes’ so as when I did take my mother out for her birthday today that she could say “this is my daughter.” And they would believe her.
Also, my chichi was a man of wisdom and he always said, “If you do not know who you are, then I do not know who you are. If you do know love yourself then no one will ever be able to love you.” He was trying to tell me that for the girls to accept me into their group then I have to be happy with my appearance and try not to be someone else. He was saying that we all feel certain ways, but unless we can show it on the outside we can never show the world our true self. This is important to me and this is way I did what I did… this is what I tell myself anyway.
If I feel Japanese, but do not look Japanese then I must show the world that I am. My thoughts though, are whether I have interpreted what my Chichi has said right; or if Haha and Chichi understand why the bathroom sink is full of black water.
I am one of those ‘one-in-a-million’ Australian born Caucasians adopted by an Asian family. My siblings are all Japanese and I am from English decent with cocoa brown hair and eyes a light shade of gray that if looked at on the wrong angle; almost look transparent. As I looked in the mirror I saw curly black hair down to my waist and panda eyes. I picked up that hair dryer and started the long process that would make me look Japanese. But as I said, this wasn’t the first time I had picked up the cheapest hair dye off the shelf from Priceline.
Two years prior to today, I had come home from school bawling my eyes out. Why? Well I wouldn’t tell Evelyn anything as we took the bus home; she didn’t question my actions and she even followed me when I bought the platinum blonde dye; not even asking why it was that I bought it. When we got home I locked myself in our room not wanting to come out, eventually I unlocked the door and surfaced at about 9pm. I could hear Evelyn speaking fluent Japanese to Haha, trying to explain what was going on; even though she didn’t know herself.
The next day when I turned up at school I had platinum blonde hair. Why? Because I was sick and tired of being the weirdo from in a Japanese family and not fitting in, in the community called school. School was everything to me. I wanted to fit in so much that it got to the point of believing that if I changed my appearance and looked the way they did; I’d be accepted into the group I wished to be a part of. At home I stood out like a sheep in a pigpen; it was obvious that I was not really part of the family, no matter how hard I tried to be like them. So at school it meant a lot to me to fit in amongst me fellow peers because at school; at least I looked like them.
Speaking fluent Japanese never helped. These girls were all blonde bimbos with no complexity in their lives. I loved it. I loved them. But when I got to school the next day they all looked at me as if I was a disease that they might catch if they stood too close. I gave up trying to fit into that community that day, I gave up caring what they thought about me and hung out with Evelyn and her friends for weeks on end until I worked out who i was and what I wanted.
From that day forth I decided that family was the most important thing in my life because I cannot escape it; so I might as well embrace it. I came from a family of three children, me being the middle and my two sisters both being Japanese. Both my adopted parents were born here in Australia, but they new how important it was to stay in touch with who you are so they brought us all up with a mother tongue of Japanese and then taught us English. They did this so we could speak both and be able to communicate with our grandparents and the elders in the community that we spent our weekends and holidays with. I was Japanese, but I didn’t look it. This didn’t bother me though because I new my family loved me and I felt special among ‘my people’ being different, yet never being treated differently which is what I loved the most. But there was one thing that my Haha always did to make sure that I knew who I was and that I kept in touch with it; she would take me out to places that were distinctively English so that I remembered that yes, I was every bit Japanese and my sisters, but I was also that little bit different. When she took me to these places she had this look in her eyes that said she was proud to have me and that no matter how different we really were; she loved every bit of me.
***
But today was just one of those days when none of it mattered. I looked in the mirror and wasn’t quite sure what it was I saw. Why did I feel Japanese and not look it? Why did my adoptive parents want me and why did my biological parents NOT want me?
A single black tear ran down my cheek as I thought all of these things. I wanted to make my parents so proud of me, but I also wanted to be able to walk down the street and not feel as if I do not belong with them. My hair was dead straight and the tear had just ruined the makeup I had applied. I had given myself ‘asian eyes’ so as when I did take my mother out for her birthday today that she could say “this is my daughter.” And they would believe her.
Also, my chichi was a man of wisdom and he always said, “If you do not know who you are, then I do not know who you are. If you do know love yourself then no one will ever be able to love you.” He was trying to tell me that for the girls to accept me into their group then I have to be happy with my appearance and try not to be someone else. He was saying that we all feel certain ways, but unless we can show it on the outside we can never show the world our true self. This is important to me and this is way I did what I did… this is what I tell myself anyway.
If I feel Japanese, but do not look Japanese then I must show the world that I am. My thoughts though, are whether I have interpreted what my Chichi has said right; or if Haha and Chichi understand why the bathroom sink is full of black water.