I once hit a classmate of mine when I was in middle school.
Shocking, right?
I'm not even going to be defensive. I was wrong. I deserved to be removed from the school dance that night and suspended for the next day. But the person on the receiving end of my violence wasn't exactly innocent either. Why isn't she punished? I wanted to say to my enraged Mom between sobs as she drove me back home, She violated the dance's dress code! It's a Black and White Ball, and she's wearing a blue knock-off kimono! Why does she think it's okay to wear it in front of me? I mean, nobody laughs at her last name! Nobody squints their eyes and say "ching chong" when she walks past! It's unfair!
It's been so many years since then, and I was also in the wrong, but it left a wound in my heart that stings every time I think about it. Yet, the event was but a single incident amidst a series of racial slurs, backhanded compliments and criticisms of my role as Greek goddess Athena in the recent blockbuster Hollywood movie The Eye of Medusa thrown at me since my childhood up until now. It's what prompts me to write this book in the first place, and to send this message to some of my fellow schoolmates as well as the losers known as Hollywood "movie critics":
Try having one drop of Japanese blood in your veins. You'll understand.
As a matter of fact, I don't have one drop of Japanese blood in my veins. I have half my amount of blood from Japanese ancestry. My Dad, Megurine Tsuyoshi, was a pure Japanese man from Tokyo. According to his words, a "fated encounter" with Laura Lance, a White woman, on one of his business trips in New York prompted him to later move there permanently and start a "kingdom" with her and their newborn "princess" whose name is a combination of Lucy ("queen's" suggestion) and Mika ("king's" suggestion). Their marriage was seemingly perfect and happy, but their daughter's life was, from the beginning, never a smooth ride. Hell, nobody's life is a smooth ride, but for some people, that journey is especially extra bumpy.
When I was in kindergarten, I was often the star attraction, not because I built the biggest castles, because I liked singing or even because I was pretty. It was because of... you guessed it... my name. Most of the kids called me "Lulu Meggie". There was a popular game where they tried to read my last name correctly, and whoever managed to do so got a kiss from me on their cheeks as a reward. I was mildly annoyed by this, but of course the adults thought it was only "childish games" and never paid attention.
Until it started to get serious later in my life.