Your Journey, My Journey - Jotaro Kujo

Introduction

It was just your average day at school. I was a junior at Hoshigaki High School right in the middle of a small town named Yanagawa on the outskirts of an island in Japan. Though, I didn't always live in Yanagawa. I used to live in Florida, in the United States. Though I was much younger then, I remember bits and pieces of it. I remember beaches and the warm weather. It was always so warm. Even in winter, it never went below fifty degrees. And, although I was only around 5, I remember my father. He was so kind, generous. Back then, he was my world. He had black hair that always seemed to be styled so perfectly. His laugh filled up a room and made people smile. He just seemed so perfect. But, we left him. Me and my mom that is. She had met a new man who convinced her to come back with him to Japan, start a new life. I didn't know why. My father always seemed like the kind of man you would grow old with. He had no flaws. My mom always said I gave him too much credit. I want to say she's right. I saw him through the filter of a childs eyes. I could overlook the bad days, I guess. But then again, my mom up and left him with me in tow. For good? Possibly. We don't talk about my father. My stepfather is a nice man. But, something irks me inside to know that my father will most likely never be a part of my life again. Kotaro, my stepfather, is a Japanese buisnessman. He does his job. He supports me and my mom, though it is still not a huge amount of money. Even so, I feel like could have been happier in Florida. But boy was I wrong.

As I walked from my small traditional Japanese house, I took in my surroundings. It was spring, the cherry blossoms were in full bloom. The scent filled the air, a staple of a true Japanese spring. I felt guilty knowing that I wasn't Japanese in a way. I felt like I was cut and plastered into the Japanese culture. I knew the customs, the mannerisms, the language. But I didn't have the looks. I was pretty, for an American that is. But in the small town of Yanagawa, I was the town weirdo. An outcast. The girl who gets bullied. My mom never seems to notice how different we are. She stays in the house all day, making me run her errands because I know the language much better. It didn't bother me though. Most of the shop owners were nice. Though I couldn't shake the feeling they felt bad for me. They treated me kindly because of pity, or not to upset me. I didn't really know, but it was bearable. School, however, wasn't. I would get called countless names. Foreigner was the nicest, if that says anything. On the surface its what most people in Japan call people from different countries. However, the word means something completely different to me. Unloved, unwanted, different, weird. Even though I have lived in this small town for 12 years, I still do not belong. No matter how proficient I am in Japanese, no matter how much I understand the culture, I still feel like that ignorant five year old from Florida. With the light brown hair and thick American accent. My skin is still more tan. My eyes are still too light. Maybe if I lived in Tokyo I would feel different. I might have been accepted. After all, it was a big business city. Lots of foreigners. People who look different. But I don't have that luxury. It's 1988 in Yanagawa, Japan. An average day of school and a not so average student.