THIS IS ME: AMI MIZUNO

by Dark Moon Ministry

Disclaimer: I do not own Sailor Moon or any of its characters.

My name is Ami Mizuno. Most people know me as just a shy bookworm, but there is a lot more beneath the surface than you might expect. I have in fact one more identity: I am the princess of water – Sailor Mercury. Because of the tremendous popularity of the sailor scout team, you could actually say that I am more known among people as a sailor soldier rather than a bookworm. But as you probably already figured out, my identity as Sailor Mercury is a secret, so I am stuck in most people's mind as nothing more than that bookworm, which is kind of okay, I guess.

When most people talk about me, they say I am sweet, caring and polite, but they often remark over how shy I am, and that I take good time before I open up to people. Some of them also admit that they first thought of me as being cold and snobbish due to my silence. These are my personal traits. I am embarrassed to say it, but there is not much I can do about them. I do not mean anything bad with being shy and quiet. I just have to feel I stand on safe ground before I can step closer to somebody.

After getting to know me a bit better, people usually say that I am a much more cheerful person than they first thought. They also say that they sense a certain kind of sadness inside of me. This is actually true. I do bear some sadness inside, though it is not nearly as big as it used to be before. There have been a lot of things in my past that shaped me into what I am today. Many of those things are not so nice to hear about. My life has actually been quite a ride sometimes.

If you want to hear the little story of my life, I will be happy to tell you. Just remember that you have been warned. There are some parts that are not so pleasant...

CHAPTER 1: Early childhood; dark clouds by the horizon

Let me start from the beginning. You might not believe it, but despite all the darkness that filled my childhood, the very earliest days were bright and happy. The first memories of my childhood are warm and sweet. And I still carry them inside my heart. Back in those days, I felt I had everything, and that I did not need anything more.

I was a preschooler. Maybe four or five or something. Mum and dad were still together. And they still loved each other. If I dig deep into my mind, I can still recall a picture of them holding each other while kissing, and then looking into each other's eyes in that special way. That kind of look that only two people in love can give each other. I remember standing behind the door, shyly peeking out watching them. I remember them seeing me, and how embarrassed I felt for interrupting their precious moment. I remember how they laughed and then came and picked me up, and how we all sat down together on the couch. How my dad put me in his lap and stroke my hair. How mum hugged me and said I was their beloved child.

And back then in those days, I had friends. Yes, you heard it right. I had friends. Ami Mizuno actually had friends before she met the other Sailor scouts. And I was outgoing. I was social. I was talkative.

In kindergarten, things were so much simpler. You only had to run around being yourself. It did not matter if you were a little overweight, if you had a big nose or if you could not throw a ball. You only had to be yourself and enjoy the company of others. It was before the world started connecting us all to the big machine. The big machine called Society.

It was before the adults started to put the letters A to F on everything we did.

Already at that young age, I was obsessed with knowledge. I was curious about everything, and I wanted to know how everything was. Curiosity is a natural part of a child's life, but for me it was different. Every child loves to see a match being lit and the flame bursting out, but I needed more than that. I wanted to know how and why the flame burst out as soon as you stroke the match over the side of the matchbox. I had to know how the beautiful, detailed and prospering world around me was constructed. My thirst for knowledge was unquenchable, and mum and dad always encouraged me to learn. Mum had just started her career as a doctor at this point, and she loved her work. Always has. She used to tell me about the human body; where all the organs were located, how they functioned and how they were connected. I could never get enough of it. My mum knew so much, and I admired her for it. My dad also taught me many things. He talked to me about art history and painting techniques. I was equally as curious about art as about medical science.

I was six years old (would turn seven in six months or so), and at last, the day came when I was allowed to enter school. I felt like I was in heaven. Now I could finally get all the knowledge I wanted. I was happy every morning when I woke up, knowing that I would soon be back in school, and I was always sad when I had to leave school for the day. I disliked weekends, because school was closed at that time.

It was here that I started to notice I was different from the other children. And they noticed it too. For the first time in our lives, we knew we were different from each other, and we slowly realized that some of us were worth more than the others.

As school began, the first thing I realized was that everything was so much easier for me than the other children. I was good at learning things, and I wanted to learn. I only needed one single explanation to understand, and I always remembered everything our teacher said. I could read and write long before I entered school. Not perfectly like an adult, of course, but far better than most children of my age. Mum had been reading books with me for as long as I could remember, and I had eagerly taken in all the words, symbols and expressions that were hidden between the pages.

Of course, I had been aware of my intellect already in kindergarten, but back then, such things did not matter. Being able to read was just like being able to run fast or to climb a tree. Some could do it, some could not. Some were good at it, some not so much. It was not important. I was not worth more or less than that boy who hated books but was very good at climbing trees.

School turned all those rules upside down. From now on, it did not matter if you could climb trees. All that mattered was how good you were at reading, writing and calculating things. And soon enough, we children began seeing the cruel results from this merciless system. When I got a test back, there was always a big "A" written on it. When the teacher gave me the test, she always smiled and patted me on the head, saying "Well done, Ami!" or something similar. My friends were not so lucky. They got no A, no kind words and no patting on the head. Instead, they got a sour scolding. It was cruel. They had only tried their best. They had tried to be creative and poured all their heart into the task... and all they got was a scolding.

It really hurt to see how this those children suffered under the system. The children that were so happy and carefree in kindergarten became unhappy. I wanted them to be happy again. I wanted to help them. But at the same time, I could not really understand why they had so many problems with the schoolwork. I must admit that, at this point, I was quite egocentric, being the young, happy child that I was. I actually felt slight disappointment over my classmates for not being as good as me. For me, everything was so simple. I loved the schoolwork and the schoolwork loved me.

Later on, this difference between me and my classmates would turn into a huge gap. However, at this time, I was still living in my little bubble. I sometimes noticed some envy from my classmates, but it never turned into something bigger.

There was, however, one event at this time which I feel I should tell you about. It is an important event because it foreshadowed the darker events that were soon coming.

During kindergarten and through the first year at school, I had a best friend. Her name was Mariko. We always played together after school. Mariko loved to play games of all kinds, and I was no different. I loved everything: physical activities, video games and the quieter, social things. She did too. But over time, Mariko changed. For every time we met, she seemed to grow more distant to me. I noticed it, but I shook it off. I never thought anything would happen.

Then, shortly after we had entered second grade, something did happen. I will always remember that special scene.

Me and Mariko sat together in the living room. We were playing a video game together, having played for more than an hour. It was one of those versus games, where two players fight against each other. It was a kids' game; loud noises and flashy colors. Each player controlled a character with big eyes and tried to collect as many balls as possible.

Frantically pressing the buttons with my small fingers, I steered my player up to a new area on the map. I quickly gathered up the balls hidden there. Once I touched the last ball, a loud fanfare played, and the screen was covered with big, pink letters.

AMI WINS!

"I won," I said, proud of my achievement.

Mariko stared at the screen for a couple of seconds. She clutched the controller heavily in her tiny hands.

The screen displayed the statistics of the game so far. At the very top, the number of wins and losses were written in capital, blue letters.

AMI: 7
MARIKO: 0

"That was fun!" I cheered as I watched the big, blue letters on the screen.

"Mm..." Mariko hummed quietly.

"What you wanna do now, Mariko-chan?" I asked my friend.

Mariko did not say anything. She just sat still, looking at the wall.

"Mariko-chan?" I said. "Are you okay? Can we play?"

"Yeah..." Mariko said, again with that distant voice.

"Do you wanna play more video games?" I asked her.

"No..." Mariko answered.

"Okay? Do you wanna play cards?" I said eagerly.

"Don't wanna play cards..." Mariko pouted.

Mariko looked down in the ground, holding her hands close to her body. I could not tell if she was sad or just tired.

"How about tic-tac-toe? Or guessing games?" I cheered, caught up in my childish joy.

"I don't wanna play that!" Mariko said. Her voice was a bit louder this time.

"What do you wanna play then? You can decide," I told her.

Mariko did not answer. She was still looking at the wall.

Now I got a little bit worried.

"Mariko-chan? Are you okay? Are you in pain?" I asked her.

I was always quick to notice when people did not feel right. I tried to do everything to make them cheer up again. It made me feel like I was a doctor, like my mum.

I put my hand on her shoulder, but Mariko slapped it away.

"M-Mariko-chan?" I said with big surprise.

"I don't wanna play with you anymore, Ami-chan," Mariko suddenly said.

I was shocked. I opened my mouth and made big eyes.

"Wh-what?"

"I don't like playing with you, Ami-chan!" Mariko screamed. She turned around and stared at me with tears in her eyes.

"You are always best! You always win! It is always Ami-chan every time! You win all games! You have the best grades in school! You think I am dumb!" Mariko shouted.

I was devastated.

"Wh-wh-what? M-Mariko-chan, I..." I stuttered. "I don't think you are dumb! You are kind! You are my friend!"

"You think I am dumb! You always wanna win! You wanna make fun of me! You are mean! You are bad!"

"B-but I..." I whimpered. "I don't always wanna win...I..."

Tears filled my eyes too.

"You are a liar! You only wanna play games because you win!" Mariko cried.

"N-Nooo..." I whispered. "We can...Mariko-chan, we can have a running contest...then you can win..."

Running was the only thing that Mariko was really good at. The only game where she always came out as the winner.

"I don't wanna have a running contest, and I don't wanna play with you again! I HATE you, Ami-chan!"

Mariko ran away crying. I sat where I was, hearing her footsteps slowly fade away.

After Mariko had ran away, I sat there alone, confused and afraid. Naive and innocent as I was, I could not understand what had just happened. I never meant to hurt Mariko. I never played with her only to defeat her or make fun of her. I played with her because I loved her. I loved being with her.

For the first time in my life, I understood the meaning of the concepts "winning" and "losing". Of course I had always known that every game had a winner and a loser, but to me, those concepts did not mean anything serious. They were just categories temporarily put on the participants of the game, kind of like the first team is "Team Red" and the second team is "Team Blue", and as soon as the game is over, those labels lose their meaning. To me, the whole point of a game was just to interact socially. I never cared who turned out to be the winner and who turned out to be the loser. That's why I asked if Mariko wanted to have a running contest. But Mariko made me realize that games were about more than just having fun.

It was my first time experiencing how cruel and cold the world could really be. How you could never take anything for granted. How quickly the love you held in your hands could seep away.

Mariko and I never spoke to each other again.

This was the start of a negative spiral. Around this time, other dark clouds started gathering by the horizon. Things started happening at home. My mother and father began having serious issues with each other.

I do not remember exactly when it began, but it went on for a long time. Mum and dad argued. A lot. Their discussions became more intense as time passed. At first, my parents sounded irritated. Then they sounded angry. In the end, when things were heating up, they sounded hateful.

They never went over the edge. They always kept everything tidy and professional, like they do with everything. There were no physical fights, no broken items, no alcohol. But it hurt a lot. Being an eight year old child, hearing your parents, the two persons you love the most in the world, screaming at each other. I will never forget that. They often fought after they had put me to bed. They thought I was asleep, but I always heard everything. I sat there in the darkness, wrapped up in my blanket, holding my teddy bear. I listened to what they said, and I tried to understand why. My eight year old mind could solve mathematical problems. It could spell out words and construct complex kanji characters. But it could not understand why my parents' love for each other had ceased. I loved both of them so much, so why could they not love each other?

Of course, looking back today from a more mature perspective, it is not difficult to see why things happened the way they did, but an eight year old cannot know such things. Today, I rather ask myself why they got together in the first place. How they could even come up with the idea to invest so much into a relationship that was doomed from the very beginning.

I feel I should tell you a bit about my parents. Let's begin with my mother. Mum is a strict and proper career-minded woman. She comes from a rich family, and has had high ambitions all her life. She always got highest grades in every subject in school, and she knew early on that she wanted to be a doctor. I admire her so much for all the hard work she has put into her life, and for actually fulfilling her dream. She is a huge role model for me, in that sense. I also admire that she never allowed society to put her back in her place. When mum became pregnant with me, everybody urged her to quit her job and become a housewife, like most Japanese women. Mum refused. She worked hard, to the point of burning out, to combine her job and her parenting. It was really tough sometimes, but not once did she take out her stress and frustration on me and dad. She always had a smile over for me.

Dad is the opposite. He is relaxed and easy-going. The most important thing in his life is to be free from the pressures of society, to be free to let his artistic side flow. Dad is a painter, and he is very good at it. I admire him equally as much as I admire my mum. I admire how he is willing to accept a life with low prestige and irregular income as long as he has the freedom to do what he wants to do. He truly loves life, and he takes each day as it comes. He has taught me a lot about art and painting, and I can feel his talent within me. While I never intend to become a full-time artist, I occasionally do my own paintings, and my dad loves them. He always tells me how proud he is of my works. That is what I love the most with him. He is always so honest.

These patterns followed through everything they did. Mum loved big cosmopolitan cities. Dad loved nature and the countryside. Mum loved fashionable restaurants and exotic cuisines. Dad would rather eat ramen and curry. Given these very different character traits, and adding to that how strong willed both my parents are, it is not strange how it all ended up.

Dad felt mum was being too pretentious and was working too hard. He could not understand why she had to be a doctor, and could not be satisfied with being just a nurse. He always loathed titles, salary raises, career advancements and such things. Dad always wanted mum to be a housewife and be at home with me. He felt she put too much pressure on me with my studies, and he did not show any enthusiasm whatsoever when my mother finally managed to get the job she had so long desired.

I feel disappointed at my father for being so senseless with my mother. Why could he not understand how important this was for her? Why could he not see that this was my mother's dream, a dream just like he had his own dream? And she never pushed me too hard. It was I who asked her to teach me things. Dad was probably only annoyed with it because he did not understand the subject.

On the other hand, my mother is not without faults. Mum never understood my dad's artistic side. She is not very interested in art, and although she praises my paintings and has learned a lot of facts about art, you can see that her heart is not in it. Mum wanted dad to get a "proper" job. She accused him of loving his paintings more than me and her, and that he was neglecting his own family just to do his own childish things. I always felt that was a very rude thing to say. Dad has never neglected me. His love for me is equally as strong as it was from day one. It is true that after the divorce, I lived with my mum and not my dad, but this was decided mainly out of convenience for all of us. I wanted to go to university and become a doctor, and I had the best chances living in a large city rather than in a cabin out in the woods. Plus, my mum had a high salary and regular income, whereas my dad sometimes had to live on instant ramen for weeks when his paintings failed to catch the interest of people.

Don't get me wrong. I love my parents. I love mum, I love dad, and if they had not been together, I would not exist. But it all feels so strange. It feels so strange to be the product of a failed relationship. I know they both love me dearly, but they do not love each other. Sometimes, I can feel disappointed in both of them. I understand that a divorce probably was the best solution, but sometimes I think they could have tried harder to understand each other's feelings and perspectives on life. I tried to ask both of them what it was that brought them together in the first place, but they could not answer. I really wanted to know, but they always looked so guilty when I brought it up, so I always let it drop.

Growing up with parents who could not keep it together, I have naturally become very shy and insecure myself when it comes to love and relationships. It is not that I do not understand what love is. I have had interests in boys, and I have sometimes had boys being interested in me. I have surely felt that tingle inside my chest. But I have never dared to go through with anything. Anytime I get close to people, I always hear that voice in the back of my head. The voice of self-doubt. The voice that tells me I am entering dangerous waters and must step away. I want to believe in eternal love. I want to be able to throw myself head-first into a relationship and just be me...but it is so difficult. Every time I get close to someone, my intellect keeps telling me about all the possible negative outcomes. Will he lose interest in me? Will he cheat on me? What if he moves to another city far away, and so on. At these moments, I just wish I could shut off my intellect and only listen to my heart. I envy people who can dive head first into love and only follow their instincts. A brain is good in almost all situations, being able to analyze the world in a rational and logical way. The only exception is love. In love, you need to know how to turn off your brain. This is simply because love is not rational. Love is psychosis. Immature, irrational...and beautiful.

Sorry for getting a bit sidetracked. Let us go back to where we were...

So I was in second grade, and my parents finally divorced. I began living with my mum, only seeing my dad a couple of times each month. Being at home felt horrible. The apartment, intended for three people, now only housed two, and the silence hurt my ears. I often heard mum crying herself to sleep.

With my family broken down, living a normal life like a normal kid became very difficult. I desperately wanted someone to talk to about the current situation and the negative feelings I had inside of me, but everywhere I turned, the doors seemed to be closed. Mum and dad had enough of their own problems. I did not dare to approach them in the state they now were in. Looking back today, I guess I also felt partly responsible for what had happened. Maybe it was I who had caused all the trouble for my parents? After all, I was their daughter, a link between them that they were forced to keep. Today I know that it is not my fault, of course, but for an eight year old with limited experience of the world, going through a divorce was a very tough thing to do. There are so many unanswered questions, and with the tiny, little knowledge you have, you fill in the gaps yourself, sometimes in regrettable ways.

Spending time with friends also became difficult at this point. A divorce is sort of a taboo in Japan, so I felt too ashamed to talk about it, especially with the other kids who had functioning families and parents who loved each other. I regret it, because many of my friends saw the signs in me not being myself, and they wanted me to feel better. But my fellow classmates were also eight year olds without any knowledge of the relationships between adults, and they could not offer much more than giving smiles and playing games. Unwise as I was, I gave them the cold shoulder. Given my current situation, I just could not enjoy simple small talk. I had no energy to fake a smile and pretend I felt alright when I did not.

I could not talk to my parents. I could not talk to my friends. So what did I do to ease the pain inside? I withdrew inside myself and my books. Reading was the only thing that brought me any comfort. As long as I had my nose in a book, I could ignore the pain in my stomach. It let me disappear into my own Wonderland. Science was logical. Science was honest. Science never betrayed you. "1 + 1" would always be "2". You could open that basic math book again ten years later, and "1 + 1" would still be "2". I think this is the reason why math is my favorite school subject, and the reason why I specifically want to be a medical doctor, the one that deals with healing the physical body. I would never want to have any of the other professions in the medical business. Being a psychologist, for example, is not suitable for me. The human mind is too abstract. As a psychologist, I would have to see things from other people's perspective, and things would be open for interpretation. But performing surgery on a human body is different. A human heart will always be a human heart. All you have to do is to connect A to B. Simple, logical and honest, the way I like it.

As I grew older and progressed through the educational system, the school put more and more pressure on us children. I for one welcomed that. More school work meant less focus on my personal life. Besides, at this point, I had fully learned how much effort I had to put into my studies if I wanted to accomplish my dream – to become a doctor. I followed this path slavishly, mostly because it was my dream, of course, but in hindsight, I also believe that my hard work probably came from a desire to be appreciated by other people.

Workaholism is one of my personal traits. I have that from mum. It is in my genetic makeup. However, I also think that my environment shaped me in this way. In my mother, I saw the exact same behavior after the divorce as I saw in myself. Mum began working harder. At first, she stayed in the office one or two hours longer every other day. Then she began taking working passes at weekends. Every time she came home from a long day, she was so tired that she just wanted to sleep. Often, she had just bought some pre-cooked food from the convenience store that I had to heat up in the microwave oven and eat alone by myself. She had no time for small talks, like we used to have when I was younger. Back in those times, she seemed to receive energy every time she came home from work, regardless of how intense the day had been. Now, it felt like even smiling drained all her energy. I know why she took up so much work. Her work kept her mind of the sadness of the failed marriage. Mum was never someone who liked to talk about her hard feelings, and most of all, she never wanted to put them on my shoulders. She probably felt guilty for what had happened. I feel sorry for her. I see traces of this behavior even today, any time she is called in to an extra pass and I have to eat dinner all by myself.

So I did the same thing as she. I dug deep down into my books instead of trying to reach out to someone. My teachers were proud of me. They always praised my high grades and my intellect. And I loved when they did. It made me feel wanted. Feel important. It filled the void inside of me that had been left since my parents broke up.

After hearing about the notoriously difficult entering exams of Japan's finest medical universities, mum suggested that I should go to cram school a few days a week to improve my knowledge even further. I liked the idea. School was the only place where I felt safe, and now I finally got something to fill out all those lonely evenings with. I continued the negative circle. I took up more and more school work. I learned more and more skills and intellectual things. Before long, I went to cram school every single evening. In fact, every free spot in my calendar was crammed in with some sort of activity: chess, swimming, art classes... Anything that was intellectual or healthy for your physical body...and did not require social interaction. My teachers praised me even more. I was stuck in the big machine, and I happily fed it with my own life and soul.

With all the school work I had, the distance to my classmates extended rapidly, and eventually, we did not know each other anymore. I never played, I never went to the toy store, I never went to karaoke. Basically, I never did the things that normal young girls do. I was like an adult in a child's body. I discussed chemical compounds and math equations when other girls talked about pop music and TV. All my friends were adults. I began behaving like them, talking like them, acting like them.

When I am here today and look back, I feel some bitterness over how irresponsible the adults were. It is true that I was very positive when they taught me things and that I always encouraged them to teach me more, but somehow, I feel that they should have taken their responsibility and put their foot down. Did they not see how lonely I was? Did they not react when they heard a ten year old using words like "deionized" and "thermodynamic", but did not know anything about the other children in her class?

When I turned eleven, my mother saw an advertisement of another school in a town nearby. This school was a bit more pretentious than the one I currently was in, and the education level and average student grades were very high. The tuition fees were much higher, but mum said that it did not matter. She had recently got a huge raise in salary as she was promoted to a higher position, and she wanted to use the money for something nice for her only daughter. She asked me if I wanted to go there starting sixth grade. My first impulsive thought was, just like most young children, that I did not want to leave my regular school and all my friends. But then I thought about it, and I realized...what friends? I had not had a very good contact with my classmates for several years. Also, my mother very much wanted me to go to a fine school, so I told her that I was okay with it.

And that's when my real horror started...