Getting lost between cultures

The daily life of a newly immigrated Japanese teenager in the United States seemed, in fact, very difficult. Taiga, at 16 years old, had arrived on American soil only about three months earlier and had faced many challenges translating Japanese into English. After all, more than a language, Taiga was translating a life: all the good and memorable moments he had lived in the great city of Tokyo were being replaced by American memories and customs. And that was a big problem for the boy because he never wanted this translation. His body might have been in New York, but his mind was in the lives he could be living if he were still back in Japan. In the people he might have met. In the experiences he lost the opportunity to live. More than anyone around him, the young Japanese boy was afraid of losing who he was (or who he once was) through the translation of his language into English. The main problem for him was never linguistic adaptation, but the emotional one. The boy, for example, was known as "the biggest ramen fan in the world," and it was part of his routine to go to the convenience store conveniently located near his home to buy and eat his favorite snack. And the truth is: his favorite ramen still exists in the United States. And it will continue to exist forever. But the path to the store does not. And for him, that was always the best part of his favorite food: besides the delicious, almost otherworldly flavor, the traditional Japanese architecture he passed along the way enchanted him. Not only for its beauty but also for its history. On the way, he would pass a temple of his Buddhist faith where he could worship his God without judgment. In his new country, it wasn’t quite like that. He had to translate not only his language but also his culture — who he was. And he felt that, little by little, he was losing himself in the process. After all, Every street he walked down in the famous American city reminded him that Japan was not the whole world. And that filled him with a fear he had never known before. It terrified him. After all, he had grown up as if Tokyo and Japan were his entire world. He loved the city and the country so much that he started to believe the whole planet should be just like them. And he was definitely not ready for such an abrupt translation of everything he believed in. But little by little, the boy hoped he would adapt — not translate himself — to the American way of life. To the subways that replaced his beloved Japanese bullet trains. To the informal greetings that replaced the most careful bows. The teenager had enough faith in his God to believe that things would settle — but never, ever change. He had enough faith to believe that Japan wouldn't end without him, and he wouldn't end without Japan.

And in fact, Taiga was right. As time passed, so did the hardships, and he was slowly giving in to the American way of living. Still, the process was quite difficult — after all, swapping ramen for greasy fast food was harder than it seemed for a boy used to Asian cuisine. But with all his courage, Taiga managed to adapt. After almost two years since his move, it would be nearly impossible not to fall in love with the country. After all, humans fear the unknown, but once they get to know it, they love it more than they ever thought they could. For example, Taiga was surprised when he ate American fries for the first time, but gradually, he began to enjoy the snack, just like all the other kids his age. And with that and many other experiences, the now 18-year-old was amazed by his own ability to adapt — something he once believed impossible. Taiga couldn’t see himself happy in New York. But now, with the countless friends he made at school — the same school he had been so afraid to enter on his first day that it made him cry — with his maternal family who had immigrated to the U.S. before him and still welcomed him with open arms, and with a better standard of living that gave him access to things he never had before, he realized that the place where you live doesn't matter when you have the courage to face your fears. The courage to change, and with that, rediscover yourself. He realized he could live anywhere, as long as he freed himself from that fear. He realized that his joy and happiness were not tied to a specific place but to the paths he chose and the decisions he made in that place — that’s what truly made him who he is. Of course, Japan and the United States played a big role in shaping him, but he wouldn’t be the same without his own essence — who he was regardless of location. Because beyond the cultural aspects of two heavily populated countries, he was a person, with his own preferences, who didn’t fit completely into Japanese or American life standards. He was someone who couldn't be defined by Japanese or American stereotypes. He loved both places deeply, but he realized that living or growing up in a place didn’t make him who he was — nor did it limit him to living only there. He is who he is simply because he is. There is no greater reason than that. Taiga is what Taiga chooses to be. In his own way. Regardless of place. And with that, the insecure boy who moved to New York became a mature adult, willing not to translate his culture or an important part of who he once was, but to create a neologism — a union between Japan, the United States, and who he truly is and wishes to be. And in that way, Taiga lives a happy and peaceful life, free of internal conflict.