I left my home
It was April 11, 2011. I was a child. I had my vest, 'sleeper', my toy, Sandy, named after a dead dog, a pink, glass paper weight from my brother. I did not bring friends. I was a child.
We slept in a hotel for 2 days
The flights were full, the earthquakes rolling in again and again, like the waves that would kill us. We went south, to Osaka, where I hadn't been before. I did not understand. I was a child.
We stayed in Hawaii
My great uncle expected us to have luggage, but all the four of us had was three bags of luggage, and my stuffed pet. I did not like the radio, my mother turned it off for me. I was a child.
I lived in California
My grandparents let us stay with them, and it was like a long summer break. My brother hugged me, my grandparents, too. We did not die. I did not know the people who died. I was a child.
I live for 2 years in the Golden State
I finish the remaining year, shaky. I finish another year, with children teasing me. 'Chinese!' they shout. I am Japanese. I yell back. 'Loser!' I did not find it funny. I was a child.
We move again
I live in Hawaii. 2 years go by and I go through it again. First I am too quiet, then I am too loud. When I am 10 I fight back. I tell them they are cruel, and punch and kick. I was a child
We change cities and schools
My mother tells me it okay. But I am still too loud, read too much. Lying in my bed I feel guilty for everything. I have caused it all. I did not feel happy anymore. I was a child.
I changed schools
It did not get better. Wherever I was I seemed to look down the buildings, stared at razors, punched my pillows. I did not know what was wrong. I was a child.
I move for Summer
My friends and I chat a lot, and I feel worse and better combined in the harshest way. My abuser is with me a week, he is harsh. I did not care that we ran from Japan together. I was a child.
I come back home
Music drowns out thoughts better than reading anymore. The handle on our porch I could jump; I would be gone. I did not know how much I was leaning, and the music shook me awake. I was a child.
I change grades
A year passes and so does half of middle school. When I lay in bed, thoughts cloud up. Do children think so much? I do not think I have been a child since April 11, 2011. I wish I was a child.
I am still young
Most times I do not feel. I feel things when I dream. Sometimes I daydream and I cry. That is my hope, my youth. I did not think I'd end up like this. I feel young like a child sometimes now.