I Didn't Lie
When I Was Young
I was young. I was very young the first time I saw my father. I was so young I can’t remember it at all. His English wasn’t very good, and his Japanese wasn’t perfect either. I couldn’t understand either language anyways, but we did talk. At least I feel like we did talk. Sometimes. A long time ago.
I was a little bit older when I first saw my mom cry. Maybe I was four, and I do remember that. She was sitting on our melon colored sofa back at our house in Japan. It was hot outside and I was playing with my neighbor Shiori. I got thirsty so I thought about going back inside. I remember I looked at my house’s window and saw her black hair blowing with the air. I remember I saw here sitting there looking down, maybe even with her hands covering her face.
Maybe I was old enough to get worried, or I just wanted to drink something but I walked inside and heard her soft crying. I remember my father sat in front of her, his strong pride vanishing as he looked down with a sad look on his face.
I don’t remember well, but I think I walked over to my mom’s side and began asking her what was wrong. I kept telling her it would be ok if she let me fix it. I remember she never did answer. She just took me in her arms and hugged me. I think I cried with her without knowing why.
I think that falling in love is hard but falling in love with someone that’s gone is even harder. I know my mom found the love of her life when she met my father, and I think that when he left all the love she had inside exploded and became sadness.
A few months after I saw my mother cry, my father passed away. And a few weeks after he was buried we moved to America. I think not been able to see my dad and only been able to see my mom silently destroy herself made me feel dead.
I wouldn’t talk much and I grew up like that. When I went to school I would sit by myself and I would do nothing but pay attention and do my assignments. I didn’t know English at first so I had a hard time but I got used to the English after a few private lessons. I think my mom always wanted me to grow to be a good kid without problems.
When I began 8th grade and I switched to a public school with a lot more people than I was used to I remember I would be stared at sometimes. I think it was then when I decided I wanted to look cool and pierced my ears and grew my hair. My mom cut my hair even if she kept saying she was just afraid I would end up looking like one of those “Japanese kids of today” but she let me try to discover myself.
I still didn’t have many friends but I at least made some. In 9th grade I met my best friend. He was loud, swore all the time, was into drugs, drank too and would skip class, but he would also listen, take care of me, teach me, help me out and even hold me when I needed it.
I wanted to drop out of school as I began not caring about my grades and letting them just slip. My mom said I had to do something, but I didn’t like school. People there made me feel awkward unless I got to know them. I hated when people asked me if I was Korean and then wanted me to speak Korean to them. I think it was because my mom always avoided any kind of subject that had to do with my dad (he was Korean). So I began investigating and found out I could be home-schooled and still be a part of that school. And I did that. After three years I’m still home-schooled and that guy is still my best friend.
I was a little bit older when I first saw my mom cry. Maybe I was four, and I do remember that. She was sitting on our melon colored sofa back at our house in Japan. It was hot outside and I was playing with my neighbor Shiori. I got thirsty so I thought about going back inside. I remember I looked at my house’s window and saw her black hair blowing with the air. I remember I saw here sitting there looking down, maybe even with her hands covering her face.
Maybe I was old enough to get worried, or I just wanted to drink something but I walked inside and heard her soft crying. I remember my father sat in front of her, his strong pride vanishing as he looked down with a sad look on his face.
I don’t remember well, but I think I walked over to my mom’s side and began asking her what was wrong. I kept telling her it would be ok if she let me fix it. I remember she never did answer. She just took me in her arms and hugged me. I think I cried with her without knowing why.
I think that falling in love is hard but falling in love with someone that’s gone is even harder. I know my mom found the love of her life when she met my father, and I think that when he left all the love she had inside exploded and became sadness.
A few months after I saw my mother cry, my father passed away. And a few weeks after he was buried we moved to America. I think not been able to see my dad and only been able to see my mom silently destroy herself made me feel dead.
I wouldn’t talk much and I grew up like that. When I went to school I would sit by myself and I would do nothing but pay attention and do my assignments. I didn’t know English at first so I had a hard time but I got used to the English after a few private lessons. I think my mom always wanted me to grow to be a good kid without problems.
When I began 8th grade and I switched to a public school with a lot more people than I was used to I remember I would be stared at sometimes. I think it was then when I decided I wanted to look cool and pierced my ears and grew my hair. My mom cut my hair even if she kept saying she was just afraid I would end up looking like one of those “Japanese kids of today” but she let me try to discover myself.
I still didn’t have many friends but I at least made some. In 9th grade I met my best friend. He was loud, swore all the time, was into drugs, drank too and would skip class, but he would also listen, take care of me, teach me, help me out and even hold me when I needed it.
I wanted to drop out of school as I began not caring about my grades and letting them just slip. My mom said I had to do something, but I didn’t like school. People there made me feel awkward unless I got to know them. I hated when people asked me if I was Korean and then wanted me to speak Korean to them. I think it was because my mom always avoided any kind of subject that had to do with my dad (he was Korean). So I began investigating and found out I could be home-schooled and still be a part of that school. And I did that. After three years I’m still home-schooled and that guy is still my best friend.