April 18, 1951
As the years wore on, heritage continued to trod upon my toes, sometimes to overwhelm me completely. Unlike middle school, high school poised itself on a more elevated podium, and the term "belonging" often forced you to quickly undermine the righteous path.
Before long, the intimate friendship between Radine and I crumpled and fell apart. While she began to enter sororities and become a part of a whole, I had the pleasure of observing the sidelines, waiting for the miracle that would never unfurl to the alienated Japanese.
In my senior year, Papa moved the family to San Jose and returned to his farming expertise. For me, it symbolized a chance to rewrite old stories, untie obstinate knots, and live by my own accord once more.
By spring, I had received the acclaim of the entire student body, and became one of the fifteen girls nominated for Carnival Queen on voting day.
Playing a demure smile, I had walked along the procession in a flower-print sarong, only to be greeted by a thunderous encore. Yet, the teachers bristled at the idea of an Oriental queen and attempted to stuff the ballot before my friend Leonard caught them in the midst of their act.
However, the moment my name echoed on the intercom for the Carnival Queen announcement, my eyes turned somber, and I became a callous statue amongst my cheering classmates. Somehow, the
memories had caught my footsteps once again.
Papa seethed with rage when I mentioned the news that night, admonishing me for portraying my body in such an un-Japanese like fashion. Mama, however, understood my need for belonging, and immediately bought me a gown to don for the Carnival Queen procession.
Soon, I found myself walking the length of bedsheets stretching across the auditorium floor in a frilly uniform that withheld every inch of my body.
Suddenly, my feet slurred with every painful step. The throne appeared to be a mere landmark signaling the distance, an utopia I could never reach.
In my revelation, I witnessed the hopelessness of my situation. I had become a dream that I did not possess, and now it was too late.
Too late for the daydreams of youth, too late to become an odori dancer for Papa. In the near distance, the throne never sidled any closer, but I did not know of a truer destination to follow.
Before long, the intimate friendship between Radine and I crumpled and fell apart. While she began to enter sororities and become a part of a whole, I had the pleasure of observing the sidelines, waiting for the miracle that would never unfurl to the alienated Japanese.
In my senior year, Papa moved the family to San Jose and returned to his farming expertise. For me, it symbolized a chance to rewrite old stories, untie obstinate knots, and live by my own accord once more.
By spring, I had received the acclaim of the entire student body, and became one of the fifteen girls nominated for Carnival Queen on voting day.
Playing a demure smile, I had walked along the procession in a flower-print sarong, only to be greeted by a thunderous encore. Yet, the teachers bristled at the idea of an Oriental queen and attempted to stuff the ballot before my friend Leonard caught them in the midst of their act.
However, the moment my name echoed on the intercom for the Carnival Queen announcement, my eyes turned somber, and I became a callous statue amongst my cheering classmates. Somehow, the
memories had caught my footsteps once again.
Papa seethed with rage when I mentioned the news that night, admonishing me for portraying my body in such an un-Japanese like fashion. Mama, however, understood my need for belonging, and immediately bought me a gown to don for the Carnival Queen procession.
Soon, I found myself walking the length of bedsheets stretching across the auditorium floor in a frilly uniform that withheld every inch of my body.
Suddenly, my feet slurred with every painful step. The throne appeared to be a mere landmark signaling the distance, an utopia I could never reach.
In my revelation, I witnessed the hopelessness of my situation. I had become a dream that I did not possess, and now it was too late.
Too late for the daydreams of youth, too late to become an odori dancer for Papa. In the near distance, the throne never sidled any closer, but I did not know of a truer destination to follow.
The Manzanar internment camp memorial.
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