Hey everyone! I’m Diana Reyes and I’m a third year ALT from California. I live in Sasebo, Nagasaki.
As a first generation immigrant from Mexico, I thought I would be prepared to face the homogeneous society of Japan. With years of being “the outsider” back in the US and growing up in a country where my interactions with foreigners could be counted on one hand, I foolishly assumed I was ready for this new environment. Little did I know that not only would I have to deal with microaggressions from Japanese people, but also from the people I least expected: other ALTs.
“Do you want to come to the US with me?”
I was sixteen years old when my mother asked this question. I was ecstatic and terrified! I had always wanted to go to the US, but never considered it a possibility. For my own reasons, I decided to leave my life and friends behind and moved in with her. It wasn’t easy. I had always hated English, and wasn’t very good at it. And then, on my own volition, I had moved to a country where I had to live, think, and breathe in English. It’s funny how things work out sometimes.
During my time in America, I was lucky enough to meet friends and teachers who were welcoming and supported me throughout the transition. I hadn’t experienced any outright racism – at least in the pre-Trump era – and it was something I thought I wouldn’t need to worry about. So when I moved to Japan and started to familiarize myself with this culture and meet other ALTs, I was stunned when I encountered my first situation where someone openly criticized my identity.
“You’re not really American.”
Said a fellow ALT after I didn’t know the name of a song they had referenced. I would love to lie, and say I stood up to them and told them how idiotic their statement was, but the truth is, I was at a loss for words and felt so embarrassed. For some people, this comment probably seems harmless, but for me, those words cut in deep. They were the same words that I had always told myself ever since I moved to the US, and that I continued to hear in the back of my mind.
Of course I was aware of how different my American experience was compared to others who were born and raised in the US. My formative years were not spent in the US. That became clear during a night at karaoke when all the ALTs were singing Disney songs and I couldn’t sing along without looking at the lyrics and having the Spanish version slipping out. How tragic was that?
Hearing that comment and being reminded of the way others perceived me, led me to spiral, once again, into an identity crisis that had started since I immigrated. It is our nature to want to be part of a group, to categorize ourselves and to build communities, but then, where did I belong? I wasn’t “white” enough for my fellow Americans, but I was also drifting away from my “brownness” since I became a gringa. It seemed like I was just never going to be enough.
This way of thinking seeped through in my interactions with Japanese people. I worried that they would think I didn’t fit the mold of the typical American and began questioning why I was chosen to be part of JET and how I was representing the US, and unfortunately, I was surprised to see that some Japanese people do have a specific image of what an American should look like.
I have had encounters where I noticed that when I’m with my white-looking female friends, Japanese people direct attention to them and disregard me. Other times, they simply can’t wrap their heads around the thought of me being an American. I won’t lie, it was one of the most shocking things that I had to learn while in Japan, and it is quite disappointing that some Japanese people have such a white-centric foreigner preference.
Despite all of it, I was blessed with some of the most wonderful students and JTEs. I work alongside a teacher who has encouraged me to talk to the students about my immigrant experience and to expose them to American multiculturalism and my Mexican roots. She has also always made the effort to write me birthday cards in Spanish.
One of the best memories that I will take with me was my past birthday when my favorite class sang Feliz Cumpleaños to me. Knowing that they put the effort and time to memorize and practice the song, even with their incredibly busy schedules, filled me with indescribable joy. I don’t think they will ever realize how much it meant to me. Even though, it was only a few sentences, it will always be the best gift someone has given me.
The most rewarding part of this job is seeing my students grow and expand their views. This year, I burst with happiness when one of my favorite students told me he is now studying Spanish in university. Two years ago, I had a student who was already interested in Spanish and, when he learned that I spoke it, would speak to me and confided his dream of becoming a UN ambassador. Up to this day, he has continued to ask me questions about Mexico.
My advice to PoC newcomers: do not let anyone ever make you feel ashamed of your roots or your culture. Be proud and share your culture. It is only up to you to define your identity, and what you want people to take from this cultural exchange.
I may not be your typical American, but I am all that America represents and I am enough.
By Diana Reyes, 3rd year ALT in Sasebo
Photo by Emmmanuel Feliciano
