My own connection with Japanese culture seems kinda lackluster. At the very least, I feel I have it genuinely less than most people and that has to do with my heritage. I am 0% Japanese as far as I know, born a Mexican-American in Salinas, California; a place that is predominantly 73% Hispanic while also being famous for giving birth to Nobel Prize winner (didn’t know he won that) Kenny Won and our vice president, John Steinbeck.
My own upbringing was somewhat based on Hispanic culture, usually more so when I visited my mom’s hometown of Nuevo Chupicuaro, Guanajuato in December. There I would partake in Church on Sundays, attend the Fiesta de San Pedro, and run on toooons of errands with my grandma. Every now and then I would hang out with my cousins, but they were 4 or 5 years older than me, so as time went on, they got more busy and more focused on their lives. Not to mention that while my brothers (who are 10+ years older) grew up speaking Spanish, I did not.
By the time I was born, there wasn’t much discipline or even an incentive to learn the language. Closest practice I had was when I spent a year in Mexico with my grandma when I was about 3 or 4ish. Mom swears I came back speaking fluently and without struggle, but after that, my Spanish heavily diminished from little application. The result? My hearing was quite developed, but my speaking was rather garbage. Imagine the struggle I had talking to my cousins/relatives in Mexico or in the states! I have since improved, but still falter every now and then.
I like to think of my fluency in Spanish as a reflection of my bond with the culture. While it was lacking, I never truly thrived in its presence. I didn’t celebrate the lifestyle as peers of mine would have, leading to a disconnect with the heritage. I never fully felt at home or had a sense of belonging while spending quality time with my extended family in Mexico due to the age gap. I did not feel authentic or real, I felt insincere and confused; a foreigner in a land full of loved ones. Later I felt more in sync with my upbringing, but before then, I found myself fixed on the Japanese culture.
Truth be told, my connection to Japan began at the age of 5 when my older brother Daniel introduced me to anime. It was interesting for sure, very different from the shows like Teletubbies or Blues Clues that I had seen. For goodness sake I was shown Naruto, Bleach, and Fullmetal Alchemist; all shows that I’m surprised my mom had allowed with all that violence (I could have sworn my mom even watched an episode with us so idk anymore). Things didn’t spiral out of control from there surprisingly, but I definitely became intrigued with the language. Case in point: taking Japanese for four years during high school.
I learned a lot about Japan, from its food, its customs, its cities, and its people. Fortunately, my experience was abetted by being able to visit Japan for a week (this Japan Club trip definitely wasn’t free), specifically Osaka, Kyoto, and Nara (my highlight). It was one thing to read about vending machines, net cafes, and cherry blossoms, but to live it enriched my whole being.
One of my favorite memories was in the early morning, the day after arriving in Osaka. A few friends of mine and one of the senseis decided to walk around the nearby neighborhoods, zipping through various alleyways, all while it was lightly raining. It was nice to admire the atmosphere with people I cared about, exploring the city while the cold wind breezed so effortlessly against my face, catching a glimpse of the fun that would proceed with the rest of the trip. Not to mention the long-lasting friendship that would form with a group of friends I am proud to call family!
My adoration and fascination for the culture exploded with the catalyst of that unforgettable Japan trip, for a brief time. Entering my senior year, I wound up joining the Japanese Honors Society, a group dedicated to spreading Japanese culture while also helping those in need. This included running marathons, volunteering at homeless shelters, and singing to the elderly (one of my classmates swears they killed it with the triangle).
While this was all going on, I couldn’t help but feel gratitude for what I was doing. Everything was going great with the organization, yet something felt off. I was still missing something amongst all this supposed exuberance. I then realized something.
I had neglected my own culture.
Keep in mind that throughout high school, I’d make a trip probably once a year to Nuevo Chupicuaro so I was never 100% out of touch. However, these annual trips helped me slowly realize that I had distanced myself subconsciously from my roots, from my ancestral home. I now was at war with my sense of identity, asking myself whether I was a fraud or if I deserved to be happy.
How could I be genuine to Japanese culture when my very foundations were splintered, fractured due to carelessness?
In the midst of this conflict, I wound up being tasked with an assignment from my AP Japanese class: to write my family’s immigration story. From this, I got to ask my mom about her choices and the family history leading up to my childhood. I was able to form a proper bond with my past, one I thought incorrigible. Ironic how a class associated with a culture I unjustly aligned myself with wound up reconnecting me with my own heritage.
It’s been a steep climb and a half to become more or less alright with myself. I feared a return to my old ways when a friend brought me along to my first JSA meeting. I didn’t want to repeat past mistakes so I had reservations about joining but realized that I had since grown. As long as my intentions weren’t distorted, I would be ok, especially if I also maintained a relationship with my Latin roots. I think it’s safe to say I made a correct choice as I’ve gotten to meet some pretty wonderful people in this club.
Above all, I am glad for my moment of clarity for allowing me to have a second chance, for allowing me to discover new things about myself, and for allowing me to live life, composed of both Hispanic and Japanese experiences.
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