fresh out of the plane,
weary eyed and sickly pale,
I trudge.
deep within my suitcase, I carry a passport I don't want to show to anyone,
even if they ask for ID.
I'm hopelessly aware of my accent and completely broken Japanese which seems to tell those around me that I don't think.
in that moment, I feel immense shame for being born American.
I board a fast train alongside my grandmother,
who sits beside me and falls asleep,
her graying hair in soft braids, and multicolored clothing making her stand out amongst the neutrals and business-casual of the commuter metro.
I'm over aware of my blonde hair, my clothes, everything that makes me nothing like these strangers,
and instead of the usual pride I feel in being different,
I suddenly hate it.
this difference, this obvious look about me that tells the world I come from somewhere with tarnished democracy and a growing oligarchy makes me feel sick.
my cousin awaits me at the station.
20, yet still shorter than me, she smiles.
she may see me as a whole,
but strangers only see USA as I stumble through my basic vocabulary at the 7/11.
as I lie awake on a futon 16 hours away from home,
I wonder why America became a place I so wanted to leave.
because of the monster in office, everyone I meet seems to worry that I support him,
that I agree with the garbage that flows from his mouth in a steady stream.
from a distance,
when I am merely someone on the street,
speaking in American English,
the strangers around me assume the worst.
and the hardest thing about that,
is that I don't blame them.
in The United States of America.
freedom no longer reigns,
and no matter how hard I try,
a blonde,
speaking American English
in a foreign land,
tells strangers I'm brainwashed.
such a shame to grow up in an America from my wildest nightmares.
Posted in response to the challenge Trump Tactics.
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.