Childhood
Lets start in the beginning- my childhood, and my birth.
I can no longer remember the exact date I was born, but some 30 years ago a young, unmarried girl gave birth to me. I had no father and was, in every way, an illegitimate child. I was small, effeminate and blond-unacceptable in my culture, but even more so because I was illegitimate.
My mother's family was never really my family; I found no love or acceptance there, instead I was shunned and unanimously considered a sin- the downfall of my mother's virtuous reputation. My mother tried to shield me from them the best that she could, but, needless to say, they found a way past her and into my life.
My mother was a very talented and beautiful woman. She was intelligent, could play the piano, flute and violin. She had also the benefit of being born into a wealthy, influential family but since her pregnancy they had all but disowned her. She gave me the best education that she could on her small income. I went to an excellent private school and in the evenings she would teach me music. It soon became evident that I had inherited my mother's talent and love of music as well as her intelligence.
In primary school I was teased for my illegitimacy and nothing changed as I entered high school, except now I was bullied for my un-Japanese looks and delicateness. It was intolerable but it wasn't the greatest evil. High school also meant higher tuition fees, extracurricular activities and more expensive book lists. Mother took another job to pay for everything-a night shift-and I barely saw her.
I suppose it was coming and I expected it, but mother's death was a shock from which I never fully recovered. About six months of the two-job situation and the already delicate woman began to sicken. At first she tried to hide it from me, but I soon became aware of the blood that she constantly coughed up. I was worried and told her to go to the doctor, she never did.
About a year later, she died. Just like that- one moment she was well, the next she had collapsed on the floor and that was it.
The funeral. It's funny how you remember most vividly the events you'd rather forget. Her whole family had gathered there, each person looking sadder than the last and her parents unable to meet my eye. They were guilty and they should have been for they had caused my mother's death and the loss of my only family. I was chiefly ignored that day; my opinion was not consulted over the flowers or casket. Nor was I allowed to offer a eulogy to my wonderful mother.
I remember breaking down at one stage in the proceedings. I lay on the floor, hot tears coursing down my cheeks, wanting only a soft touch and a kind word of solace. Much to my surprise, I got just that in the form of my aunt Suguru-mother's older sister. She picked me up of the floor and hugged me close, stroking my hair. "Shhhh.it's alright, Tohma." I remember how touched I was at her tenderness; she was the first person other than my mother who had called me by my name and not 'brat', 'bastard' or something worse. I pulled away from her embrace and wiped away my tears. "A- arigatou." I stammered. She smiled, warming me and giving me strength. "It's quite alright." Then her smile turned wistful and tears came to her eyes. "You look just like my sister," she said, her eyes looking over me. " except the hair of course." She sighed. " It really was a shame." It was then that, for the first time, I saw I was no the only one who loved my mother; her family had loved her too and no matter what had happened between them, blood would always be thicker than water.
Many of my more distant relatives, influenced by my aunt's example, tried to befriend me. But none of them truly meant their sickly-sweet words and I remained as cold as stone, no doubt they all thought I was rude as well as shameful.
I did gain something out of that traumatic experience. At the end of the day when all the relatives and friends left, I stood, confused as to my fate for I no longer had a home. My aunt Suguru and her husband had gotten in their car when they saw me. They exchanged a sad look, and then began to talk. I couldn't hear them but I could tell they were talking about me. A few minutes later my aunt came got out of the car with a genuine smile on her face. I smiled back at her. "Tohma!" she called. "Hai!" "Come here, please." I ran as fast as I could. "Tohma, I want you to consider very carefully what I have to say to you." She was suddenly very solemn. "You cannot live alone and if I knew my sister she would hate for you to live in a boarding house." I was puzzled, what was that to do with anything? "Your uncle and I have just discussed it, Tohma, we would love for you to live with us if you won't mind." Her eyes were earnest and pleading and without even thinking I agreed.
Moving to the Suguru household was a big step for me. They lived close by so I continued at my school. I had a longer walk everyday but, for the first time in my life, school was enjoyable. The taunting stopped and students were especially kind to me out of pity and perhaps remorse for what they did. In my grief I was turning out better music and writing, it was heaven for me.
Lets start in the beginning- my childhood, and my birth.
I can no longer remember the exact date I was born, but some 30 years ago a young, unmarried girl gave birth to me. I had no father and was, in every way, an illegitimate child. I was small, effeminate and blond-unacceptable in my culture, but even more so because I was illegitimate.
My mother's family was never really my family; I found no love or acceptance there, instead I was shunned and unanimously considered a sin- the downfall of my mother's virtuous reputation. My mother tried to shield me from them the best that she could, but, needless to say, they found a way past her and into my life.
My mother was a very talented and beautiful woman. She was intelligent, could play the piano, flute and violin. She had also the benefit of being born into a wealthy, influential family but since her pregnancy they had all but disowned her. She gave me the best education that she could on her small income. I went to an excellent private school and in the evenings she would teach me music. It soon became evident that I had inherited my mother's talent and love of music as well as her intelligence.
In primary school I was teased for my illegitimacy and nothing changed as I entered high school, except now I was bullied for my un-Japanese looks and delicateness. It was intolerable but it wasn't the greatest evil. High school also meant higher tuition fees, extracurricular activities and more expensive book lists. Mother took another job to pay for everything-a night shift-and I barely saw her.
I suppose it was coming and I expected it, but mother's death was a shock from which I never fully recovered. About six months of the two-job situation and the already delicate woman began to sicken. At first she tried to hide it from me, but I soon became aware of the blood that she constantly coughed up. I was worried and told her to go to the doctor, she never did.
About a year later, she died. Just like that- one moment she was well, the next she had collapsed on the floor and that was it.
The funeral. It's funny how you remember most vividly the events you'd rather forget. Her whole family had gathered there, each person looking sadder than the last and her parents unable to meet my eye. They were guilty and they should have been for they had caused my mother's death and the loss of my only family. I was chiefly ignored that day; my opinion was not consulted over the flowers or casket. Nor was I allowed to offer a eulogy to my wonderful mother.
I remember breaking down at one stage in the proceedings. I lay on the floor, hot tears coursing down my cheeks, wanting only a soft touch and a kind word of solace. Much to my surprise, I got just that in the form of my aunt Suguru-mother's older sister. She picked me up of the floor and hugged me close, stroking my hair. "Shhhh.it's alright, Tohma." I remember how touched I was at her tenderness; she was the first person other than my mother who had called me by my name and not 'brat', 'bastard' or something worse. I pulled away from her embrace and wiped away my tears. "A- arigatou." I stammered. She smiled, warming me and giving me strength. "It's quite alright." Then her smile turned wistful and tears came to her eyes. "You look just like my sister," she said, her eyes looking over me. " except the hair of course." She sighed. " It really was a shame." It was then that, for the first time, I saw I was no the only one who loved my mother; her family had loved her too and no matter what had happened between them, blood would always be thicker than water.
Many of my more distant relatives, influenced by my aunt's example, tried to befriend me. But none of them truly meant their sickly-sweet words and I remained as cold as stone, no doubt they all thought I was rude as well as shameful.
I did gain something out of that traumatic experience. At the end of the day when all the relatives and friends left, I stood, confused as to my fate for I no longer had a home. My aunt Suguru and her husband had gotten in their car when they saw me. They exchanged a sad look, and then began to talk. I couldn't hear them but I could tell they were talking about me. A few minutes later my aunt came got out of the car with a genuine smile on her face. I smiled back at her. "Tohma!" she called. "Hai!" "Come here, please." I ran as fast as I could. "Tohma, I want you to consider very carefully what I have to say to you." She was suddenly very solemn. "You cannot live alone and if I knew my sister she would hate for you to live in a boarding house." I was puzzled, what was that to do with anything? "Your uncle and I have just discussed it, Tohma, we would love for you to live with us if you won't mind." Her eyes were earnest and pleading and without even thinking I agreed.
Moving to the Suguru household was a big step for me. They lived close by so I continued at my school. I had a longer walk everyday but, for the first time in my life, school was enjoyable. The taunting stopped and students were especially kind to me out of pity and perhaps remorse for what they did. In my grief I was turning out better music and writing, it was heaven for me.