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Tokyo, 1986

The seatbelt sign switched on, a soft ding echoing through the cabin, and I couldn’t help but sigh a little in relief. My muscles were stiff from the sixteen-hour flight, from sitting in the same position for so long, but soon it would all be over, and I’d be on the ground, in Japan, at last.

I took a peek outside, the sky ablaze in the hazy sunset over Tokyo. The American woman sitting next to me, who wore a bright purple bomber jacket and one of those fluorescent visors, leaned into my seat to look out the window, too. I couldn’t help but think, she was such a typical tourist, but then I remembered, I was also a tourist, a foreigner in an unfamiliar land. I didn’t belong in Japan.

You wouldn’t have thought that though, nobody would have. I looked the part, murky black hair, small, dark eyes. Everything about me screamed Japanese, yet I’d been living in America for basically all my life. It was my home, even if I didn’t always feel like it was.

Independence, Kentucky, USA.

I thought it always seemed fitting, that my Japanese dad would pick that city of all places to settle in. He wanted his independence, and he wanted me to have mine.

It seemed weird now, to be going to Japan, his country of origin, while he stayed in America.

The plane started to descend, the dips causing my stomach to bounce uneasily. I tried not to think about my home, but my mind wandered back to it, to my dad, sitting in the living room, cigar in hand as he read the morning paper, and Mrs. Judy, our housekeeper, humming along to the latest Whitney Houston record. It was going to be a while until I saw them again.

There was this summer sports camp that my American mom living in Japan had invited me to. It was one month long, and located just outside of Tokyo. Some of the best young Japanese sports protégés went there every year, and since I was an absolute whiz at tennis, she thought it would be nice to invite me. Of course, it wasn't the only reason for my trip across the Pacific - rather, it was bait. The real reason why I was going there was to tame my sister Yana.

My mom and Yana both lived in Japan, they had for as long as I could remember. Our parents met there, dad was a local, and mom, well, travelled there to teach English. They fell madly in love and had us, but soon after, dad got a job in America. Mom wasn't quite ready to leave Japan, so they took one of us each. I went to Independence, with my and Yana's strict, emotionally unavailable dad, while Yana stayed in Tokyo, with our free-spirited, jubilant American mom.

From what I'd heard, in the concise conversations over the phone with mom, Yana was a bit of a wild card. She was heavily emotional, liked to live life on the edge. She was raised to be like that, and this was why my mom wanted me to come over. She wanted me to be the older and wiser twin, and to calm Yana down.

We were complete opposites. No wonder - we were raised in different ways, by two vastly different people. I was shut off, I liked to keep to myself, especially when it came to my emotions. I valued hard work, dedication, and perseverance.

Maybe it was just nerves, but I wasn't so sure if I could bring Yana onto the right track. I really lacked charisma, moreover, I wasn't so good at creating, or maintaining relationships. Perhaps it was finally time for me to step out of my comfort zone… or at least leave America again.

The wheels hit the tarmac with a loud screech, sending me lurching forward for a few seconds before we slowed down. The sound of trumpets filled the cabin, and people started clapping. I only joined in because the woman next to me was scowling at my hands in offence. I wasn't sure why people clapped when the plane landed, it wasn't like the pilot could hear us through that vaulted door.

I started to collect my things, grabbing my denim jacket, the same one I'd worn for the last few days, and my walkman. By the time the plane came to a complete stop, I was ready to go. The American tourist took a little longer collecting her things, and I could see I wasn't the only impatient person waiting on her. I heard a man in a black suit, who reminded me of my father. He was snapping loudly in Japanese that she was taking far too long.

At least, that was what I thought he said. My Japanese was a little rusty, but my dad said I would do fine.

When we finally made it out of the plane, I breathed in a huge gulp of fresh air, feeling the wind rush through my bones, and my hair. It was a good feeling, like waking up, or walking out of prison. The walk through the airport was short and sweet. I went through immigration with no troubles, presenting them with my Japanese passport. I got a stamp, grabbed my bag from the carousel and then headed to the exit, taking in another deep breath.

I stepped out into the arrivals hall. It took me only a second to spot my mom and sister, their big sign drawing attention to themselves as they waved and shouted loudly at me. I was instantly embarrassed. Nobody else seemed to be receiving a welcome like me, and maybe that was because it was just not the Japanese way of doing things.

Weirdly, life had made my sister even more Western than me. Perhaps it was because of my mom's upbringing in Florida. Despite falling in love with the city of Tokyo, she could never really let go of who she truly was inside. An American. And she had pushed that onto my sister, moulded her into a mini version of herself.

My mom was wearing neon coloured parachute pants, and a slogan t-shirt. Her hair was done Farrah Fawcett style, big, blonde and wild. I was pretty sure there was enough hairspray in there to kill the animals of the Serengeti. Don't get me wrong, I loved a bit of hairspray from time to time, to keep my updos in place, but I could smell it the second she rushed at me, and as she dragged me into a forced hug, it overwhelmed me.

"Oh, Roxy! Look at you!" she exclaimed, with a broad, perfectly white set of teeth. "You look just as gorgeous as your photos."

I wasn't sure why she was so surprised and fascinated by my appearance, it was precisely the same as the girl who stood right next to her, the girl who also pulled me into a hug I'd rather not have shared.

Yana smelled even more like hairspray, her bold, black perm firm on the top of her head. She was wearing huge hoop earrings that almost grazed her bare shoulders, and a tonne of bangles and bracelets jingled on her wrists as she moved. It was near impossible to look at her, the brightness of her clothes, it hit my tired eyes in waves.

My washed-out jacket and jeans made me feel like a sparrow caught in between two squawking paradise parrots. They whisked me off, chatting excitedly in English, probably for my sake, but it wouldn't really have mattered. I was tired and sore and pretty jetlagged. Compared to my dad's slow, even tone, it was impossible to keep up with them. I fell into a simple pattern of smiling and nodding, letting them do all the talking.

We drove through the bustling, busy streets of Tokyo, making our way towards my mom's house in the Toshima City ward, to the northwest of the city centre. As we drove, I stared open mouthed out the window. The skyscrapers were bigger and taller than I remembered. It had been a few years since I was last in the city, back when I was thirteen. Everything had grown, rocketed up towards the heavens. That was what they said the future of Tokyo would be.

"Well, here we are!" my mom said excitedly as she guided me into the apartment at the end of the drive.

It wasn't what I expected, but then again, I wasn't really sure what I had expected from an American living in Japan. It had the style of a Japanese home, but the walls were covered in western artwork, posters of bands. There was a dream catcher sitting pride of place in the living room. Instead of the traditional low dining table with seated cushions, there was a big dining table with high chairs in the kitchen. A box tv stood in a corner, with a VCR and a big record player, next to a shelf of hundreds, upon hundreds, of records.

I was almost tempted to have a look, but I had a feeling I knew it was all just going to be western pop music.

Yana showed me her room, or our room, as she called it. I'd be staying for the next week before we headed out to this sports camp. Apparently she was going to be doing dancing there. Every inch of the walls was covered in posters of famous celebrities: Madonna, Michael Jackson, David Bowie, George Michael, Prince, Cyndi Lauper, the list went on and on. I wasn't even sure what colour the walls were, there was that much stuff on them.

After a tour, we sat down for dinner. My mom had cooked a chicken dish, with noodles and vegetables. As the pair of them dug in, eating and chatting to me, completely oblivious, I looked between the knife and fork that had been placed before me.

Anxiety started to bubble in me, and it seemed stupid to bring it up, but I couldn't help it.

"Do you not use chopsticks?" I asked them.

My mom glanced over at Yana. "Well, I do have chopsticks if you want, but we usually keep them just for guests. Don't tell me you use them in Kentucky?"

"Yes. Dad and I usually eat Japanese food."

Mom shook her head and stood up. "He was always a fish out of water there, in America... Wait a moment, I'll just find them for you."

She scurried over to the drawers and started rummaging through the bottom ones. I saw Yana flash me a strange look, and she opened her mouth. I was used to the strange looks from people, I was a bit of an oddity in America, after all, I looked Asian.

"Why don't you like forks?"

I didn't see much point in lying. Anything I said was going to sound weird. "You know, I don't really like the sound of knives and forks scraping on plates. When I was little, I would go to my friends' houses, and I didn't know how to use them… I guess they just bring up some bad memories."

My mom returned with a pair of chopsticks and handed them to me triumphantly. Yana just shook her head in disbelief and continued stuffing her face with rice, trying not to scrape the fork across her plate.

*

For the next week, I stayed with my mom and sister in Toshima. I slowly began to get used to them. It was incredible how Yana and I could look so similar, but be so different. She was constantly bouncing around, she always had a lot of energy, no matter the hour. Her mouth was always moving, she was constantly chatting about the latest celebrity gossip. I barely got a word in edgewise, but I was mostly okay with that. I'd rather listen to people, let them do the talking, and she certainly didn't have a problem with that.