Six months later, after I celebrated my sixth birthday, my mother began to tell me about Japan.

She read me Japanese fairy tales at bedtime, and let me watch as many anime shows as I wanted.

I began to build an image in my mind of how I thought Japan would look- with skyscrapers and big cities, and little quaint houses with flowers in the front yard, and Japanese Hiragana symbols everywhere, like a never-ending newspaper covering everything.

Two months before school was going to start, I said Sayonara to Atlanta and stepped on a plane with an escort my parents had paid.

When I'd first been told I was moving, my parents had seemed upset. However, they didn't seem sad at all as I, their only child, boarded a plane to another country.

I switched planes in San Francisco. After eight hours in a seat, I spent the two-hour layover racing up and down the terminal. The escort- man tried chasing me for a while, then gave up.

If I hadn't been running, I might've heard the escort-dude saying, "I tell you, she's one of them. I'm completely sure!" But I was running around like an idiot and so I didn't hear him.

After we landed in Tokyo Airport, the escort explained a few things to me.

He told me that the people I would be staying with were the Fujiwara family.

Their daughter, who was my age, had the same condition I did- but she was learning English.

I'd been assigned to them so that hopefully, I could communicate with her.

Before I could meet them, there was some legal stuff that needed to be done.

The escort hailed a taxi, and then he heaved my three stuffed suitcases into the trunk. He told the driver the address, and we arrived at the office fifteen minutes later.

"Arigatou" I said to the driver. Thank you.

My luggage was taken out of the taxi, and rolled up to the office building.

It appeared to be under construction, and looked a bit like a cake. The inside looked a lot like a cafe, but there weren't any tables yet.

The escort handed a folder to the guy at the desk, who looked no older than 16 and had blonde hair.

He thumbed through a folder on the desk, mumbling "Hai, hai, hai" yes, yes, yes.

"Everything appears to be in order... except your name" he was speaking in Japanese, but I understood him perfectly.

"What's wrong with it?" I inquired. "You'll have to change it, since it has letters we don't have. If you want to be able to write your name, I'll pick something for you." he thumbed through another document before handing me a piece of paper.

On it was an official certificate saying that my name was being changed to...

Zakuro. Zakuro Fujiwara.