This is the story of a girl, now a woman.
1. The Beginning
The girl was born and raised in Sugeta, a neighborhood of Yokohama, Japan.
This is a quiet suburban area peppered with small farms, home to mostly working-class families. She was the eldest sister of two siblings. Her father owned a small shop for electronics and hardware. Her mother tended to the house, as most mothers did.
The girl has fond memories of her childhood. But when Japan’s economic bubble burst, things changed.
The sudden financial strain served to transform her father. He became erratic, stormy. Sometimes violent. Driven to nights of gambling and drinking with strange women. Her mother had wanted a divorce, but because Japan’s laws favored fathers over single mothers, she chose to stay. And to take her frustrations out on the children.
Feeling trapped inside her home, the girl found her own happiness at school, surrounded by her friends and her peers.
She excelled in her classes.
In extracurricular sports.
And in her piano lessons.
She was also improving in English, and began to develop an interest in international affairs.
Upon graduating high school, the girl made a crucial decision: she applied for an American university located in nearby Tokyo. Her parents were bewildered by the choice, but they didn’t grasp the significance of what their daughter was doing. Heck, maybe she didn’t either. For years, even after the financial situation had calmed down, she had learned to deal with her family by building a wall around herself, and doggedly pursuing her interests and passions. This path seemed to offer opportunity, plenty of ways out of Sugeta’s cage.
At Temple University Japan, she gained a newfound appreciation for world history and affairs, thanks to the classes and cultural events there.
She decided to major in Psychology, due to her interest in development and education. Her English skills improved more and more, especially because she was able to practice conversation with American students there.
A few years later, the girl was taking classes at the main campus in Philadelphia. She was dating her second American boy. Her first seemed charming enough, but less and less so as she improved her English skills. This second one was also a Psych major, and academically driven, hoping to pursue a doctorate in psych research. She admired his determination.
As her year abroad approached its end, the two decided to get engaged.
The girl returned to Japan, where she completed her degree and started working in administration for early education. The boy went off to graduate school, where he would remain for five years. Then it was marriage! And then moving to Montreal.
2. A Big Problem
Montreal was lovely, and it felt like home. But there was no realistic way to make it home.
The girl couldn’t speak French, and so she couldn’t find a job that was anything like what she had been doing in Japan.
She instead became a part-time nanny. That was a sacrifice.
Her career would be in suspended animation until her husband’s research appointment was up, and they moved somewhere else.
Of course, the move was its own problem.
She had already moved halfway across the world, leaving behind most of the people and practices she had known her whole life.
She had since made many friends in Montreal, had real promise of community—but then she would have to upend all of that to move somewhere else.
Still, her husband’s career was so demanding that there was nothing to be done. He would apply for more opportunities, and they would see where the winds would take them.
They moved back to the States, for a research appointment in New York City. This had some clear upsides. First, she was able to resume her career.
She soon found a job as an administrator for international education. This was a concession, as she had wanted to work with young children rather than young adults.
But she did grow to appreciate the new field, as she would be helping students like herself navigate their first time abroad.
Also, there were a lot of Japanese people living in and around NYC. She sometimes felt like she was back in Japan.
Still, her husband’s research appointment was only for two years. There would be yet another move coming. And this knowledge filled her with dread. Would she have to abandon her job and her friends again? How many more times would this have to happen?
She decided to put her foot down. Whatever her husband’s job situation may be, the next move they made would be the last one she would make. They needed to settle down. The boy began to look into non-academic options as well as professorships and postdocs. Thankfully, he managed to find a nice research position within the federal government, located near Washington DC. They would finally put the nightmare of academic research to rest, and settle down.
She was so relieved.
3. Something Deeper
And yet, the girl soon found that settling down brought a separate problem to the fore. Exploring the streets of Alexandria, VA, the girl realized that the region she had moved to was overwhelmingly white.
Montreal and New York City had been so diverse, so full of people from all over the world. The girl had hardly thought about her status as an outsider. In Northern Virginia, she suddenly felt self-conscious. She stuck out.
It didn’t help that this move took place a few months before Donald Trump was elected President.
Once his victory was official, the notion of being a foreigner in America became a lot scarier.
One evening, as the girl was coming home from work, a man at the station yelled at her, and told her to go back to her own country. Another time, while taking an Uber, the driver asked her if she was “one of those.” One of whom? “You know, the illegals.”
But that’s a different story than this one. Trumpism was a huge problem, obviously, but it was separate from the larger problem of feeling left out, of not fitting in. She of course felt frustrated by small town conservative Americans. As a study abroad student, she had loved meeting her husband’s family and getting to know them.
But as a resident immigrant, she began to feel like they regarded her as a visitor, or a mascot, or an appendage, rather than as a member of the family.
And that made her angry. A wall began to form in her mind, keeping them out.
What made her problem worse is that her alienation wasn’t limited to conservatives.
It was cosmopolitan liberal Americans too.
It was anyone who filled their conversations with countless bits of cultural trivia, whether it was politics, or music, or 80’s TV shows.
It was when people talked to or around her without realizing that she had no idea of what they were talking about.
Without any effort to help her understand, or make her feel included. This happened with her husband’s family, but also with his friends from Philly, with his grad school buddies, and with the people they would meet in Alexandria.
Maybe if she spoke with a prominent accent, people would feel the need to explain themselves more. But it was almost as if she were being punished for her language accomplishment.
She sounded better than most immigrants, and so people assumed that she knew everything about pop culture, too.
But language and culture are very different things. And it’s easy to feel alone in a crowd when everyone is on the same wavelength, except you.
The absolute worst thing about this problem was that her husband was part of it.
She had told him so many times about it. How alienating it feels. She had told him way back when she was still a student. And he was sympathetic to her frustration. But he leaned on the old notion of study abroad students: that it’s terrible now, but immersion is the best way to learn. It would get easier. Despite his kind intentions, he was essentially telling her to grin and bear it.
Well, she did suck it up, she did bear it. And it did get a bit easier the more time she spent in the States, learning more about the culture and some of the endless references.
But she also grew resentful of her husband.
She had wanted someone to advocate for her, to help her feel seen in this new environment. After all, she wasn’t a study abroad student. She had to make peace with a permanent life in a foreign land.
But, he let her down. Again and again.
Every time they would see his old friends, it would happen.
Over time he got a little better, and would think to bring everyone to the same wavelength. But inevitably the need for old friends to catch up would win out, and she would feel alone again, lost in the meaningless buzz of inside jokes and witty banter.
It seemed clear to the girl that she could only rely on herself to get by. The wall was going up.
But, thankfully, there was a community that began to form. There was a guy she befriended from the nearby climbing gym, and he came from Russia.
She soon had a yoga buddy from Turkey. A neighbor from Thailand. Her boss and mentor, originally from the UK. And so on.
Thanks to this support from people who had to deal with similar issues, the girl was able to start thriving in her new home.
She was disappointed that her husband wasn’t the one who had stepped in. But, the fact remained that he had only been a study abroad student, and this was completely different. He had never really known what his wife has had to experience. And he will never truly know.
Even so, having grown quite open and direct over the years, the girl was determined to convey this feeling to him as best as she could.
And, after years of trying to get through, the stupid fuck finally started to get it. He began to comprehend the gravity of her situation. How different it was from anything he had known. And how much his repeated failure to truly hear her had hurt.
4. A Slow Mend
He has since been looking for ways to step up and advocate for his wife and others like her, whether to friends, or family, or to random readers on the internet.
He hopes to convey what he wished he had known back then.
He is doing so right now.
Immigration and study abroad are so completely different.
Make sure your immigrant friends feel accepted, seen, and heard. Make sure they feel supported. Don’t confuse the lack of an accent for expertise in the minutiae of pop culture.
Don’t get so caught up in old connections that you risk losing your new ones. A lot of little cuts over time can still create a deep and painful wound. And no matter how politely you put it, don’t encourage them to grin and bear it.
Please learn from the story of the girl and her slow, oblivious boy.
Let’s not build any more walls. Let’s work to tear them down.
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Beautiful! Thank you for sharing this and for your willingness to learn and grow. It definitely hits home to me.
Relationships are hard. What’s obvious to one is unknown to the other. Glad you’re moving in the right direction!
Very vulnerable story to share and I commend your bravery in sharing it.
I am completely estranged from my birth family (with the exception of one cousin) for similar reasons. Haven’t spoken to my mother or brother in a decade. Wasn’t invited to my dad’s funeral. And you know what I say? Fuck them! If they can’t treat my wife and son like normal humans, they don’t deserve us.
Ride or Die my man… Ain’t no half-steppin’ (as we used to say in the early 90’s)
It sounds like your family’s treatment of your wife was more egregiously bad than my family, so perhaps the course of action was more clear. With my family it’s never overt, and it depends on the person. So we’re doing plenty of half-stepping until we know a better course.
Certainly not trying to call you out dude. Don’t take it the wrong way. My situation was really tough, but when it reached a point after several years that it was obvious things would not change, I cut the cord. Permanently. And it was not easy but it was the right thing to do.
Oh no, I didn’t get that impression at all. I just got the sense, without knowing the details, that your situation was maybe similar in kind from mine, but fairly different in severity and outcome.
With us it’s rather murky and mixed. For two of my siblings, we do wonder if a real relationship could ever be forged. With my parents, there is more to work with, though plenty of patience is required.
Of course, as hinted at in the post, there’s plenty of family dysfunction on her side of the aisle, so at least there’s some balance there. Yay?
Last night, I was commenting at the last leg of a 24-hour journey home, so apologies if my “minimalist” input came off as brusque. I am still thoroughly jetlagged but at least now rested and showered. Good to be back!
Sometimes around here, our authors and commenters make me laugh so hard that I can’t properly breathe.
And sometimes around here, my heart aches when reading about our friends’ difficulties and challenges in their lives.
In both cases, I like to think that when my head hits the pillow that evening, I’m better for it.
A good time to say: thanks to all for what you contribute to this place.
That’s some story. The phrase emotional rollercoaster is a bit of a cliche but it’s an accurate description of what I went through reading that. You had me fearing heartbreak all round as it came towards the conclusion but pulled it round in the end. Here’s to many more years of learning and growing together for the boy and girl.
Thanks, I’ve had those fears myself from time to time, but really putting in the work is what makes it last.
Speaking of learning, this boy sure should know by now not to eat fried foods before an international flight…
It’s amazing how many people out there are so oblivious and remain ensconced in their own bubble. Myriad conversations start with interesting premises or ideas or observations, but they so often dovetail into someone relating their own experience (sometimes so tangentially connected [disconnected?] in the service of egotism) or offering their opinion on the subject instead of asking more questions or trying to expand the discussion to, you know, learn something.
End of rant.
Great stuff, Phylum.
“Myriad conversations start with interesting premises or ideas or observations, but they so often dovetail into someone relating their own experience (sometimes so tangentially connected [disconnected?] in the service of egotism) or offering their opinion on the subject instead of asking more questions or trying to expand the discussion to, you know, learn something.”
This used to make me so upset. For whatever reason, post-pandemic, I have moved to a different reaction: Virtually or literally, I just excuse myself and walk away, and cease with any further discourse.
It was hard initially, but it gets easier. It’s doing wonders for my systolic and diastolic stats.
Phylum, I had no idea you worked for the federal government. If I knew this, I would have kept all of my opinions to myself. I apologize.
I have a childhood friend who works in Health and Human Services. He went to D.C. when Hawaii reported its third case, on a second island. The timing was uncanny. He texted me while the story broke over local news. He’s on the IT side. That can be the only explanation why his boss would force their group to board a plane in the middle of a pandemic. As in, and I’m guessing here, is that the tech side doesn’t interact with epidemiologists. At a large meeting in an auditorium was when he first realized that COVID was a big deal. And it was a mistake to take the trip. There were no delegations from California and Washington. After the program was over, he texted.
He and his team didn’t have quite the same experience as the girl in your story.
The cab driver asked the group: “Are you Chinese?
We can be a taxing bunch, for sure.
To be fair, I’m sure most Americans wouldn’t get a “Exile From Guyville” or David Foster Wallace reference either.
I think it was Rami Youssef (?) who said wherever you live in the US, the South isn’t more than a 45 minute drive away. It may even be to the north.
To those raised in Yokohama, even geeky mainstream US culture sounds like hipster esoteria. So my family talking about the Simpsons or Star Wars were just as bad as references to Autechre and Immanuel Kant.
All roads lead to a perceived exile from gai-ville.