My Japanese-Canadian Identity: A Haafu Outside of Japan
An old personal essay from 2014.
I am third generation Japanese-Canadian. I am half Japanese, quarter Acadian, and quarter Scottish. I am a twenty-one year old woman. I grew up in Ontario, in a small city called Guelph.
When I started elementary school, I went to Saint Paul Catholic School. I was only half Japanese, but I was the “Asian kid” in all of my classes. Most of my classmates considered themselves Canadian or Italian. I stood in an odd place. Or, now I realize that I stood in an odd place. The others never teased me about being half Japanese, but I often felt out of place for half of my heritage.
I wanted to connect with my Japanese side, but also separate myself from it.
In Grade Two, we had to present about other countries in the world. Ecstatic, I presented about Japan, their map, and their flag. I handed out sticks of Pocky to my classmates. During this time, cartoons like Dragonball, Sailor Moon, and Pokemon were aired on Canadian television. I watched this cartoons with relish every morning, eating a bowl of Lucky Charms cereal. I held onto every episode in my heart. That Christmas, I received a Gameboy Colour and Pokemon Yellow. I played Pokemon until I had to change the batteries. I battled virtual characters with virtual animals and enjoyed every second of it.
A few years later, my mom went to Japan on a business trip. I grumbled that I couldn’t go with her and it was just me and my dad in the house. I slept in her bed every night until she came back. When my mom came back, she brought presents. Pokemon, Hello Kitty, Pingu and a gift from a person in Japan who worked for a company affiliated with the place my mom worked at.
It was a Gameboy Advance.
Every few years, when a new handheld console came out in Japan, the Japanese distributor would sent me the console before it came out in North America. The last console I received from him was a Nintendo DSi, when I was fourteen. My only connection to a Japanese person was lost.
The other connection I had was through anime. Late elementary, I got into late night cartoons on YTV. Things like Full Metal Alchemist, Naruto, Death Note and Eureka (pronounced eh-you-reh-kah) Seven. I stayed up late every Friday to watch a new episode of these cartoons. I began to draw more and more in a manga (Japanese comic) style. I dreamt of drawing stories.
I dreamt of going to Japan. I bought a video game called My Japanese Coach and taught myself hiragana and katakana. I transferred out of my Catholic high school to a Public high school so I could take the Japanese language course offered at that Public school. I learnt Japanese from a tutor whose advertisement we saw at a Japanese restaurant we frequented.
In 2010, I got to go to Japan for the first time. With my mom we flew into Narita International in late April. My heart palpitated with every step in the airport. People hustled and bustled about the crowded space. Mom and I took a bus into Central Tokyo. The grey buildings blended into the grey skies of a windy day. Cars whipped by. Trucks cruised along highways built almost 5 storeys above the ground. Mom and I were toured around Tokyo for a few days by the Japanese person — and his family — who sent me the video game consoles for all those years.
After those few days went by, my mom and I travelled by Shinkansen — the bullet train — to Kyoto along with the Japanese man and his family. The business conference was being held at Kyoto University. In Kyoto, while mom worked, I toured to Nara, home of a giant Buddha statue, to Kiyomizu temple, to a Yuzen dying studio, to this temple and that tower.
I hardly had time to breathe considering how many things I saw in that short week in Japan.
A few month later, I got word that I was selected to go to Japan on a month long homestay program called LABO. It would be the first time I would be away from my family. The end of July 2010 came up and I headed out with a giant group of Canadians to Tokyo. After orientation, we dispersed and I ended up in Gifu City in Gifu Prefecture. Gifu City is situated about a half hour northwest of Nagoya. In Gifu City, I stayed with the Ohyabu’s. My host sister’s name was Yuri.
She was in university, but was in the middle of a sabbatical from a trip to France and from hosting me at her home. Yuri, along with her plethora of friends, brought me to places I never would have knew about if it weren’t for them. Along with staying with Yuri, I attended LABO sessions, where kids from elementary school to high school participated in English learning. I had LABO to thank for setting me up with a host sister who spoke English fluently. I wanted to use my Japanese and was only forced to when not in Yuri’s company.
During my homestay, all of the LABO homestay participants had to go to camp. Yuri and I went to the largest LABO camp in the Nagano Prefecture, near a mountain called Kurohime (Black Princess). In our cabin was about twenty-five to thirty Japanese children, two camp councilors, and a couple of LABO homestay participants. Everyone had to choose and activity to do on the second day. I chose to dig potatoes. Only one other boy from my cabin chose to do the same.
The day of potato digging, we hiked for about ten minutes up to a small plot of farmland. The little boy stuck to my side, hardly saying anything in both Japanese and English. I wish I knew if he enjoyed it. The potato digging came and went and so did the camp.
Soon after camp, my month long stay in Japan ended and I headed back home to Canada.
I often look back at the times I stayed in Japan. Although I identify as part Japanese, many people born in Japan would not view me as a Japanese person. I was not raised in the culture. I do not fluently speak the language. I speak it about half-fluently. I do not look Japanese. I am the least Japanese looking out of all my cousins on my dad’s side. Yet, I pride myself on this heritage. I’ve done my research and I’ve experienced the culture.
My Japanese grandmother considers me more “Japanese-y” than her.
Yet she has full Japanese heritage.
I learned that there are a lot more people like me, with half Japanese heritage, who grew up in the culture. They are referred to as “Haafu” — the Japanese borrowed word for “half”. A documentary of the same name debuted in 2013, looking at the different experiences that Haafu in Japan had.
Haafu.
The term feels both right and wrong to me.
I am Canadian, but also a Haafu.
