I was having a rough time at school. The kids weren’t being nice to me. I went home crying every day, begging my mom to take me out –to homeschool me or send me to another school where I could make friends — but they refused. At least I was still able to hang out with Kyle at Kendo.

But, then, he stopped showing up as often. We would see each other some days and not others. I started writing him letters. Long, long letters about how my school days weren’t going so well. I never sent them, but I think he knew things were hard for me. When he was around, he tried to cheer me up. Bring me up from my inability to fit in. He tried to tell me things would be okay, but, mostly, he just made me laugh and forget.

Those were the good days. On the bad days, I wouldn’t see him for months. I would hang out at school, trying to fit in. Trying to find my place, but not being able to do so. I cried most days. The only thing keeping me going were those letters. The long, long letters to Kyle and my new friend  made in summer school. I’d write to them about all sorts of things. Mainly, I’d write about how much I hated school.

I was constantly losing my spiral notebooks. It wasn’t a good thing. In those notebooks, lay my life. My desperate cries to Kyle for help which I knew he would never receive. We didn’t really talk much during those middle school years, but the very idea that I might be able to talk to him eventually kept me going until high school.

Before I entered that school, though, I went to summer school. I left the island that summer to go live with my grandparents to take courses at another well-known college prep school in Hawaii. I loved it there.

So many people at the school were intelligent and a bit socially awkward like me. That summer, I took a writing class, tennis, European Literature, and Symphony. The class that made the biggest impression on me, however, was the writing class.

On the first day of summer school, I woke up with a horrible stomachache. This was a common occurrence for me. In the mornings, before class, I would have the worst pains — these pains were caused from stress. The stress I had every day of having to face my classmates and school. The stress from this day was different, though, this one was caused by the fact that I wanted to make a good impression for summer school. For once, I wanted to fit in.

At 6:30 am, my grandfather had us on the road, and I was still feeling the stress pains They were sharp and pointy. I imagined knives on the inside of my stomach jabbing my internal organs and skin. I groaned in pain until we finally arrived at the school.

Since my brother and I were there early, we went to the cafeteria and ate the breakfast that my grandfather had packed for us. My brother munching on his spam musubi and me with a rice musubi. No spam. I envied my brother as he munched on the salty, gelatin-y meat, but knew I couldn’t eat it. I was on a diet. I had decided to go vegetarian to cut down my calories and had decided for that summer before high school I would only eat rice. Now, I realize the rice was actually making me gain weight, but at that time… Well, it seemed like a good idea.

We finished breakfast and headed to our respective classes. I, as always, arrived early. So, I sat at the front of the door. There was a girl sitting at the front also. A small cute Asian girl reading a book. I wanted to say hello, but there was something about her that was intimidating. Maybe, it was the fact that she seemed to stare right through me. I decided not to say hello and tried to tuck myself into a shadow on the side.

The teacher finally arrived at the door. He was a very good looking man — a recent college graduate. I decided that I was going to enjoy that class. If the class sucked, at least I could stare at the teacher. I started to head in, but noticed the girl that had been reading a book bolt up and start to head my way. So, I moved to the side. I decided I should probably follow her rather than be the first one in class.

The teacher moved his head up and said hello with a gorgeous smile. The girl looked at him, gave him a piercing look and chose her seat in the middle of the circle on his right hand side. I, on the other hand, smiled shyly at him and murmured hello as I tried to edge myself to the most inconspicuous corner of the room. Far away from the intimidating girl.

Another girl sat next to me and introduced herself. Her name was Clara. I liked her from the start. She talked to me that morning about all sorts of things. Boys. Life, Dogs. All, in a matter of minutes. Did I mention she talked a mile a minute? Listening to her soothed me. I nodded and smiled, not saying a word as she spoke of things that were going on in her life. She smiled and waved at all the other kids coming to class, as if she knew them. But, she confided in me, she really didn’t. She just was excited to meet new people. We exchanged numbers.

When fourteen students were in the class, the teacher called us all to order. He explained that we would be writing about a lot of different things this summer, but, mainly, we would be inspecting ourselves. Shit. I thought. What interesting thing do I have to say about myself? The class passed quickly, the teacher babbling on in front of the class about sentence structures and verb tenses, while the Clara passed me notes under the desk about her assessment of the other students. In one note, she discussed the intimidating girl sitting on the other side of the circle.

That’s Tina. She’s super popular and extremely smart. I heard about her before I started school here. She can make you or break you here. Stay on her good side.

I responded to the note with a quick,” I’m staying out of her way.”

Clara nodded in agreement and but, after class was over, she immediately made her way to introduce herself to Tina. Tina smiled and spoke with her animatedly. The whole boy population of our class was captivated by Clara. I wished I could be like her, but knew I would never be as thin or cute as she was. So, I walked away.

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Clara called me that night. Gushing about how cool Tina was and how she was really looking forward to the rest of summer. Also, did I see that cute Japanese guy in our class? Wasn’t he just dreamy? Oh, if she could get a date with that guy!

I didn’t really fit in with the popular kids because I wasn’t “pretty enough”. I didn’t fit in with the intellectual kids because, although I received high grades, their conversations never held my interest. Plus, what the heck can you talk about intelligently in the fifth grade? I missed New York. Irrationally, I thought if I could go back to New York, I would at least know my “place”. Because I didn’t fit in a category, I always felt out of place.

Although I desperately wanted a friend, I never really wanted to fit in. I just wanted a friend that would never leave my side. Who wouldn’t judge me based on my looks or intelligence.

Since I was socially awkward, I spent my time learning the violin. Eventually, in sixth grade, I took up Japanese and Kendo.

Kendo changed my life. Not just because I could whack my brother on the head with a stick and get away with it, but because, in Kendo class, I found my first love, Kyle.

When I saw Kyle, I knew. He was *It*. Kyle was tall, thin, and hapa. His hair was brown with red/orange hints in the sun. Moles freckled across his face and one right in his left nostril. He had tan skin, with glowing brown eyes and bushy eyebrows. But his smile. His smile made my heart stop that day. It was an invitation, a mischievous invitation that I wanted to accept.

I stepped out of my mom’s car that afternoon and felt like I was staring at my future. A smiling, happy future. His smile lit up my sky. I was infatuated.

He came up to the car and introduced himself. Then, he asked me if we had anything to eat. Since my mom always took us to McD’s right after school, we had some french fries left over. I happily shoved them at him. He laughed at me and asked if we were going to be coming to kendo more often. Then, he started to play with my little brother. I tagged after him like a little puppy.

Kyle was the type of guy who didn’t have a care in the world. He was always smiling and positive. Always trying to make sure that everyone was having a good time. We were at Kendo for maybe six months, before we were to go to a tournament.

Kyle was going. I was excited. Never mind the fact that I would have to spar and get my butt kicked in front of him, we were going off-island together (and the rest of our kendo group of course).

Its a bit fuzzy, but I believe I sat with him on the plane that day. He was joking with me about some random things as he always did. His brown eyes sparkling and his laughter contagious. He always made me feel like I was accepted. I was happy with Kyle. I enjoyed our laughs.

When we got to the hotel, we were changing. For some reason, a scene that sticks in my head is walking into the boys room and finding kyle and his friends kicking ice over the railing. They were playing a game trying to get it as close to the edge as possible wthout it falling off. Kyle always kicked it off. A metaphor for his life, I guess — go for the glory, but he was always always humble.

I walked away from the railing and he came trailing after me. He asked me if I wanted to see him in his boxers. Totally random. I’d never had that attention from a boy before.

Kyle intrigued me. Always did. Our group went out to dinner that night. He sat next to me and placed his arm around me for a couple of pictures. I think he knew my huge crush on him. He definitely knew years later, but we’ll get to that when the time comes.

I still have those pictures.
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Kyle went to high school at another school so we didn’t see each other much. He was popular, older, more intelligent. To me, he was insanely so. My sole reason to go to kendo was kyle. I’ll admit it.

He was my everything. I loved sparring with him. I loved talking with him. But, truth be told, I loved that he accepted me for me.

I was having a rough time at school. The kids weren’t being nice to me. I went home crying every day, begging my mom to take me out. To homeschool me or send me to another school where I could make friends. My parents were really interested in doing that. At least I was still able to hang out with Kyle at Kendo.

But, then, he stopped showing up as often. We would see each other some days and not others. I started writing him letters. Long, long letters about how my school days weren’t going so well. I never sent them, but I think he knew things were hard for me. When he was around, he tried to cheer me up. Bring me up from my inability to fit in. He tried to tell me things would be okay, but, mostly, he just made me laugh and forget.

Those were the good days. On the bad days, I wouldn’t see him for months. I would hang out at school, trying to fit in. Trying to find my place, but not being able to do so. I cried most days. The only thing keeping me going were those letters. The long, long letters to Kyle and my new friend made in summer school. I’d write to them about all sorts of things. Mainly, I’d write about how much I hated school.

I was constantly losing my spiral notebooks. It wasn’t a good thing. In those notebooks, lay my life. My desperate cries to Kyle for help which I knew he would never receive. We didn’t really talk much during those middle school years, but the very idea that I might be able to talk to him eventually kept me going until high school.

I, unfortunately, landed in the “not” category and I watched, from my perch on the sidelines, as my once friends banded together to have good times. Without me. 

I guess I always felt a little out of place. I was constantly searching for the “right” place to be. Always searching for my “best” friend. The friend that would never leave my side. I didn’t want to be the social butterfly. I didn’t even really want to fit in. I just wanted one friend that would love me for who I was. 

Since I was socially awkward, I spent my time learning the violin. Eventually, in sixth grade, I took up Japanese and Kendo. 

Taking up Kendo was one of the best experiences of my life. Not just because I could whack my brother on the head with a stick and get away with it, but because I met my first love on the first day of Kendo class, Kyle.*

*name has been changed

Then, she asked me. I couldn’t figure it out. Was I black Barbie? But, I wasn’t black. Was I Asian Barbie? I wasn’t as light as the Asian Barbie. At that time, there was no “Hispanic” Barbie, so it wasnt even an option. 

I stood there for the longest time trying to figure it out until I finally picked “Black” Barbie. She matched my skin tone the most. 

Sharon and I brought our Barbies to our mothers for purchase and our moms started laughing,” You’re not black, Honey! Why’d you pick the black Barbie?”

“Oh,” I responded.”It was the one that most looked like me.” 

We ended up picking Asian Barbie because I’m half Asian. 

I didn’t know it then, but I’ve learned now, learning to choose the right raced Barbie as a child will help you choose the right race boxes as an adult. Unfortunately, I didn’t learn that lesson well. So, as I said before, I’m still confused as to what race box to choose. 

*name has been changed to protect the innocent

I remember my mom giving me a training bra, then, thinking better of it and giving me one of her own. What the heck?! What am I supposed to do with a bra? I refused to wear it. So, under our see through uniforms, well, you know. 

I guess it wasn’t a good look. I always wanted to be one of those skinny girls with no boobs and no butt. Funny thing is, at that age, when boys were starting to notice girls’ butts they thought no butt was actually a “nice butt”. Whereas mine, which was round and prominent was, well, not. 

Sucked to be me I guess. More categories placed on us by society. More unnecessary stress for kids to have to live up to.

I guess you could say I was placed in an inadvertant category though of “tom boy” or “girl little boys don’t have crushes on”, but it was okay for me. 

I remember that some of our teachers were a little weird though.  My third grade teacher had some pretty interesting writing tips such as ” When u are trying to quote someone use exclamation points”.” Yah, I guess as you can see I didn’t take that advice..

Well, after that we left New York (and first grade) and I started  to write ten page letters to my friends in New York that were never sent. I LOVED to write letters, but getting them out to the right person was never a big deal for me. 

My earliest (best) writing memory was being placed in the “gifted writers” class in second grade. I wrote a lot of poetry then. I’m told they were pretty good. For a second grader. 

I continued my quest to be a writer. I like to write on scraps of toilet paper, barf bags, and napkins if I don’t have a paper or my computer. Comes in handy to keep your ideas. Unfortunately, people think it’s trash and throw it out. Maybe I should just start carrying around a hand held computer.

I remember when I just got to Hawaii from New York in the second grade. I was lost. I didn’t know anyone. 

One kid came up to me and said “You’re from New York huh? The ghettos? You black?”

Wanting to be liked and still not exactly understanding the whole race thing, although I should have gotten it by the time my second friend wasn’t allowed to play with me due to the fact that I was Mexican, I said,”Yah, sure I’m black.” 

“Awesome!” said the kid and I immediately had a friend. It was a good time not to know what a category was…

Even then though, the uncertainty of what racial category I was still had an effect on me and it happened in one of the most unexpected places.
My friend and I were standing in the toy aisle staring at Barbies trying to figure out which one I wanted. Like all other little girls, I wanted a Barbie that looked like me, but I couldn’t figure out what to get. So, I asked Sharon. My best friend at the time. Sharon was this really pretty little blonde girl (one of the girls all the little boys liked in the third grade) and she, of course, had an easy time choosing by just pointing out one of blonde Barbies.

Then, she asked me what I wanted. I couldn’t figure it out. I was stuck between black barbie and asian barbie. Asian Barbie had my eyes, but Black Barbie had my skin tone.

I stood there for the longest time trying to figure it out until I finally picked “Black” Barbie. It seemed like a good idea. I felt a kindred with her since we were both dark skinned.

Sharon and I brought our Barbies to our mothers for purchase and they started laughing,” You’re not black, Honey! Why’d you pick the black Barbie?”

“Oh,” I responded.”It was the one that most looked like me.”

We ended up picking Asian Barbie because I’m half Asian.

I didn’t know it then, but I’ve learned now, learning to choose the right raced Barbie as a child will help you choose the right race boxes as an adult. Unfortunately, I didn’t learn that lesson well. So, as I said before, I’m still confused as to what race box to choose.