August 29, 1944
After the bombing of Hiroshima, Japan, World War 2 closed it curtains, and Papa took the initiative to finally echo good-byes to our Manzanar lifestyle.
At Lone Pine, he committed his final act of defiance; a purchase of a car with the only paucity of funds we had retained throughout the Manzanar years. Yet, as we jolted through the Mojave Desert, a smile played upon my lips, for Papa's secret audacity had now found a corner in my heart.
However, the truth revealed itself as we settled into the unmaintained Cabrillo Homes, Los Angles. Unlike the threats that had struck or fears before, we now faced an isolation between the Americans that shared our community; and at school, people treated me not with disrespect, but with an attitude that showered an aura of invisibility. Although I had participated in just about every organization existing at our school, I wished to be known as an individual, an unparalleled identity.
Soon, with my friend, Radine, I became the lead majorette for the Boy Scout bugle corps and began to truly link myself to a name, a unique voice above the thousands that caressed me. For by abandoning a childhood marred with my cultural flaws, I gave people a new outlook into my life, one that projected only the images I wanted them to see.
Yet, my ethnicity continued to trail my footsteps, like a phantom of the living dead. In spite of the veil that now obscured my genuine identity, many could still only discern a Japanese girl, for in their eyes, they perceived a given object and not the animate mind beneath.
No comments:
Post a Comment