Foreign: by Tatsu Nakamura
Moving to a new place is a hard thing to go through for any 9 year-old.
Moving to a whole new country as a 9 year-old that speaks almost no English is a whole other level. Even in Seattle, one of the highest Asian population cities in the US, it was hard not to feel like an outsider. Hell, even having a dad that plays for the Mariners didn't make things easier with other kids, and being in that limelight just made it harder to fit in. I didn't want people to hear me speaking or to look at me and see my appearance, see me standing out and know I didn't belong. I wanted to be invisible.I did everything I could to look American and speak like an American, and eventually I faded in with the group, I stopped standing out. But I still didn't feel like I'd found a home.
I never took to baseball, and that always disappointed my dad. He would never say it, but it was hard for him to have something he loved, something he had shared with his father and his grandfather, that he couldn't pass on. My mother was always kind and supportive, but that can never replace having a place with your peers where you feel like you belong. In Yokohama, I had kendo to call home. Spending several hours every day honing my skills, training my form, sharing the blood, sweat, and tears with the other club members, that's where I felt at home. I loved that feeling, that feeling when I stepped up for a match and felt my mind and body connect while everything else, pain, doubt, anxiety all fade away.
I took a chance on just about every sport and activity I could to find that kind of home again. My mom drove me around to a million different soccer practices and Boy Scouts meetings and swim meets. I gave up on all of them after a month or two, but she was always there to pick me back up and help me get to the next thing. I had given up altogether on finding the place where I belonged when I got to middle school, but my two best friends pulled me into going with them to tryouts for the football team. I knew nothing about the sport, and I was a sight to see in a pair of baggy basketball shorts, the old pair of soccer cleats that fit way too tight on my feet, and an oversized set of pads and a helmet. I got knocked off my feet time and time again in drills, and I couldn't even tackle the smallest kid on the field. But when I lined up to run my first Oklahoma drill on offense, something slowed down. It was the first time I had that feeling come back to me in so long, my body caught up with my racing brain and I could see everything. I couldn't feel the pain in my legs or shoulders any more, all I could think about was getting past the defenders, finding the glory on the other side. I ran forward, secured the ball against my chest, I found the gap and spun through to the final defender. I saw him barrel right at me and I knew what I had to do, just one quick juke to the right and I was sure I could shake him off me and find paydirt. My feet moved like a flash, I could see his eyes dart back and forth not sure where I was about to go. My feet crossed over and I pushed off to jet past him, and the next moment I was flat on my back.
I wasn't able to get to the other side, I wasn't able reach my goal. But I was home again.
Moving to a new place is a hard thing to go through for any 9 year-old.
Moving to a whole new country as a 9 year-old that speaks almost no English is a whole other level. Even in Seattle, one of the highest Asian population cities in the US, it was hard not to feel like an outsider. Hell, even having a dad that plays for the Mariners didn't make things easier with other kids, and being in that limelight just made it harder to fit in. I didn't want people to hear me speaking or to look at me and see my appearance, see me standing out and know I didn't belong. I wanted to be invisible.I did everything I could to look American and speak like an American, and eventually I faded in with the group, I stopped standing out. But I still didn't feel like I'd found a home.
I never took to baseball, and that always disappointed my dad. He would never say it, but it was hard for him to have something he loved, something he had shared with his father and his grandfather, that he couldn't pass on. My mother was always kind and supportive, but that can never replace having a place with your peers where you feel like you belong. In Yokohama, I had kendo to call home. Spending several hours every day honing my skills, training my form, sharing the blood, sweat, and tears with the other club members, that's where I felt at home. I loved that feeling, that feeling when I stepped up for a match and felt my mind and body connect while everything else, pain, doubt, anxiety all fade away.
I took a chance on just about every sport and activity I could to find that kind of home again. My mom drove me around to a million different soccer practices and Boy Scouts meetings and swim meets. I gave up on all of them after a month or two, but she was always there to pick me back up and help me get to the next thing. I had given up altogether on finding the place where I belonged when I got to middle school, but my two best friends pulled me into going with them to tryouts for the football team. I knew nothing about the sport, and I was a sight to see in a pair of baggy basketball shorts, the old pair of soccer cleats that fit way too tight on my feet, and an oversized set of pads and a helmet. I got knocked off my feet time and time again in drills, and I couldn't even tackle the smallest kid on the field. But when I lined up to run my first Oklahoma drill on offense, something slowed down. It was the first time I had that feeling come back to me in so long, my body caught up with my racing brain and I could see everything. I couldn't feel the pain in my legs or shoulders any more, all I could think about was getting past the defenders, finding the glory on the other side. I ran forward, secured the ball against my chest, I found the gap and spun through to the final defender. I saw him barrel right at me and I knew what I had to do, just one quick juke to the right and I was sure I could shake him off me and find paydirt. My feet moved like a flash, I could see his eyes dart back and forth not sure where I was about to go. My feet crossed over and I pushed off to jet past him, and the next moment I was flat on my back.
I wasn't able to get to the other side, I wasn't able reach my goal. But I was home again.