Fermented Soybeans: The Gateway to Cultural Acceptance
When I was 5 years old, I became a student at my local Japanese Saturday School. Asahi Gakuen(朝日学園）was a place to learn or reinforce one’s knowledge of Japanese, and the school ranged from Kindergarteners to High School Students. If you wanted to attend this school, you had to take an entrance exam — they would assess your level of proficiency in the following Japanese subjects: vocabulary, math, science, history. The catch was, if you started as a Kindergartener, you weren’t required to take the exam.
So, on my first day of Asahi Gakuen, I pranced into the classroom with my bright pink roller backpack, excited to learn about my background and make new friends.
At first, it was phenomenal! I learned origami, read plays, and ate home-made lunches (picnic style on adorable foldable mats) with a few girls that were in the same class as me. The amount of homework given was slim to none, and I looked forward to Saturdays when I could hang out with my new friends.
Gradually, some things began to change. Looking back at my 6 year-old days, I should have just been stronger. A rock, firm in my beliefs — but I was more like limestone. The first comments were about my appearance. I’m not too sure why it really got to me. I must have known that my green eyed, extremely pale, and blonde haired self, did not truly belong in a herd of Japanese children. I stood out, just like Marlin, swimming alongside Crush and the other sea turtles.
Once a single child pointed out this obvious difference, the switch flipped in everyone’s mind, including my own. Even if I learned Japanese like all the other kids, I would never truly fit in.
It became rapidly downhill from there. I stopped paying attention in class, so my knowledge of vocabulary (especially 漢字,kanji) declined, and consequently I failed the majority of my written tests. I despised attending Saturday school; I began blaming my Japanese background. If I wasn’t born half Japanese, I wouldn’t need to spend 8 hours every Saturday, sitting at a wooden graffiti’d desk, daydreaming about what my other friends were doing.
Disassociating from Asahi Gakuen translated to distancing myself from anything related to Japan in my weekday life. In my “American” Elementary School, I barely had any Japanese friends, because I felt that I couldn’t resonate with their interests and conversations. I tried really hard to not wear ~Japanese~ looking clothes, even though my mother had gifted me some adorable skirts and graphic tees. This continued for many years, up until the end of my middle school years.
One morning during my freshman year of high school, I woke up and followed my daily routine — washed my face, put on jeans and a t-shirt, sang a few songs, and sprinted over to the kitchen. I plopped myself down onto swivel chairs that line our counter, and my mother brought out some breakfast. My dad was eating Honey Nut Cheerios, so I expected the same — looking down, I was thrilled to see that I would be eating something else, one of my favorite dishes. Fermented Soybeans with Rice.
For those of you who many be unfamiliar with this luxurious item, this is a picture of 納豆。(natto)
It’s exactly what you think it is. Fermented Soybeans. It’s sticky. It has strings that attach onto your face. It also has a very strong, perhaps unpleasant smell that radiates off of it. The taste lingers in your mouth for a LONG time. And I love it.
In this moment, staring down at my sticky beans, I realized a lot of things. I realized that I hadn’t done as good of a job at avoiding my culture as much as I had imagined. I realized that, even if I don’t look it, Japanese culture will always be a part of me, from the manner of my speech, to the way that I behave. I realized that I need to appreciate the little things more, and most importantly, to not be ashamed of the things that make me who I am.
Just because of this small Japanese bean, I ended up taking Japanese classes in my high school, which I thoroughly enjoyed. In college, I am a proud member of the Japanese Student Association, and help out with making たこ焼き or selling sushi during our festival events. I also attend a weekly “Japanese lunchtime table” where I meet up with many students and teachers and we practice our Japanese together.
It’s definitely been a rollercoaster to get to this point, but I’m very happy now that I can accept what makes me, me!