I moved to a town called Eastchester in New York State during the winter of my final year of kindergarten in Japan.
If I had to compare, it kind of felt like Tokyo’s Ōta Ward—residential, calm, and family-friendly.
I started attending a local elementary school called Anne Hutchinson School.
I’ve touched on my first day there in an earlier post, but let me share a bit more.
Back in 1984, there were hardly any Japanese kids at the school—only two Japanese boys that I remember.
One of them happened to be in the same grade as me and could speak a little English.
The other was probably a grade below.
Every day, I was surrounded by words I didn’t understand. I felt completely lost.
And that one Japanese boy in my grade? He loved to flex.
He’d say things like, “I can speak English, you can’t,” and took every opportunity to pick on me.
He’d say things I couldn’t understand, twist what I said, and manipulate situations.
Even without knowing the exact words, I could feel the vibe—and it wasn’t good.
One vivid memory I still have—even 40 years later—involves cupcakes.
In the U.S., when a child has a birthday, their parents often bring cupcakes or treats for the whole class.
The birthday child goes around the classroom handing them out, and everyone gets one.
I was quietly watching, waiting for my turn, thinking, “Okay, when they get to me, I’ll just take one.”
But just as they were about to reach me, that boy said something in English… and the tray passed right over my head to the next person.
No cupcake.
And he just looked at me with a smug grin.
I was furious.
Still am, honestly.
(I mean—who forgets a food-related betrayal!?)
That same day, as soon as I got home, I told my mom:
“Mom, I want to study English. I want to be fluent and prove him wrong. Get me a tutor!”
I know, I was just a kindergartener—but what a bold little thing!
I guess I’ve always had a bit of a fierce streak in me. I hated being underestimated.
So I studied.
A lot.
Not just English—I also worked hard on my Japanese, went to Saturday school for Japanese kids, did calligraphy, cram school, piano… every day was packed.
Thankfully, I had the sweetest, most beautiful, and incredibly kind tutor.
Thanks to her, I picked up English quickly and, before long, I was totally fluent.
It also helped that there weren’t any Japanese girls around.
If there had been, I probably would’ve spoken Japanese all the time and avoided English altogether.
By the time I started first grade, I was talking with local kids effortlessly.
That boy? He went quiet real fast.
My revenge? Achieved.
Being naturally outgoing, I found that American life actually suited me really well.
I became more confident and expressive.
Later on, another Japanese girl transferred to our school.
She and I became friends, and she ended up learning English by hanging out with me and the other kids.
But those who came after us often stuck to just the Japanese group—and because they didn’t need English to get by, some went back to Japan barely speaking it.
Such a missed opportunity.
Looking back, I feel really lucky with the timing of it all.
Thanks to those four and a half years in New York, even after coming back to Japan, I never forgot my English.
When I returned to Japan, I often heard things like:
“Oh wow, you’re a returnee kid? Must’ve been nice—so lucky to learn English without even trying!”
Especially from adults.
But that couldn’t be further from the truth.
While other kids were carefree, playing without a worry, I was grinding.
I was dealing with frustration, identity, and casual racism.
I was thrust into an unfamiliar world without a choice—and I had to survive.
It wasn’t like going on a study abroad trip that you choose for yourself.
It was real life.
And honestly?
That “Wow, must’ve been nice!” comment used to really sting.
Because no, it wasn’t nice. And it definitely wasn’t easy.
Now, as an adult, I understand that people probably didn’t mean anything bad by it.
But back then—especially during my teen years—it was hard to brush off.
Returning to Japan wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows either.
Back then, Japan wasn’t as open or accepting toward bilingual kids, or anyone different, really.
There weren’t many mixed-race kids or foreigners around either.
But those stories… I’ll save for another post.
“I’m a Single Mom, But I’m Pretty Happy”
📚 Available here:
https://amzn.asia/d/4RPOXCm
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