Instagram's #MyStory Event

Instagram Japan was kind enough to include me in their #MyStory event, which focuses on stories by female Instagram community members. Fifteen Japanese women were featured, and Instagram Japan threw one awesome reception party last night. 

Thank you, Instagram Japan, for letting me participate in this event! It was awesome to see my work on display! 

My self-portrait!

The crowd.

The food.

The parents.

Everyone raise a phone!

Oh heyyyy.

Oh heyyyy.

#MyStory.

A Self-Portrait

“Where would you say you’re from,” Adam asked.

“Japan.”

“Okay, where’s your hometown?”

“…Tokyo,” I said, to a face that clearly told me that I was giving the wrong answers.

“But, would you describe yourself as Japanese?” He tried again.

“Um, yes and no?”

As much as I hate to admit it, I was being honest. I knew what Adam was trying to get me to articulate – that I wasn’t really “Japanese,” – but the truth is that I still belong to that category. I have Japanese parents and a Japanese name and a Japanese face. Even with a gray-purple undercut, I can still easily blend in with just about any crowd here in Tokyo. In short, I’m very Japanese.

Except, of course, I’m not. I think in English, make mistakes when I speak or write Japanese, and have no idea who is famous and who’s not. I don’t watch the right TV shows, understand the cultural references, or act like a 33-year old Japanese woman should. I have values and priorities that seem vastly different from the majority of Japanese people my age. I don’t think Lost in Translation’s depiction of the culture here is inaccurate.

For a year or so after I was bullied here, I avoided Japanese food as part of my campaign to not be Japanese. I thought about trying to rip my face off, or at least mutilating it enough that I wouldn’t look Japanese anymore. I tried to erase myself but couldn’t do anything about how I looked. I hated my face, my eyes, my hair, and my skin. I hated appearing like I was as culturally Japanese as everyone else.

It's a weird thing to hate how you look. I wouldn't recommend it. 

When asked if I’d be interested in doing a self-portrait recently, the big question became “what do I draw myself in?” And the answers weren’t American things like burgers or tacos. I love those things too, but what came to mind first were Japanese things: mochi, daifuku, dango, anything involving sweet bean paste.

Maybe it’s my stubborn reaction to being bullied here, maybe it’s a product of my upbringing where we’d always have tea and a Japanese snack at 3pm on weekends. Maybe it’s my lactose intolerance. Or maybe I’m just being honest. I can’t change being from Tokyo, or being Japanese. And while people might find fault in how I fail to be Japanese enough, I no longer feel shame in who I am.

“Yes and no?” Adam had said.

“Well, like ethnically Japanese, but culturally American.” I explained.

“Okay.” He seemed satisfied with that answer.

And there we sat, an Australian who lives in the Czech Republic and a by-all-accounts American living in Japan, united by a love of bikes, in a Chinese restaurant in Tokyo. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Subject: myself!

Materials used: Hiyoko crumbs

[Hiyoko means “baby chick” and is a chick-shaped Japanese snack, popularly bought and given as a gift from Tokyo. It has a soft, wheat-based shell and is filled with sweet white bean paste.]