I hear the news:
The Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor.

I hold my breath, wondering

What will happen to me now?

I am Japanese American

Will my friends trust me?

Or will their minds be poisoned against me?

Mother tells us we have to leave our home.

Why? Don’t they trust us?

Why? We have lived here forever. 

Why? We are not spies.

Why? Can’t they see we are trustworthy?

Why? Are they blind?

The questions rattle in my head. 

Forcing themselves out, they surprise me.

Mother says they don’t trust anyone. 

She says everyone is blind to the truth at some point in their lives.

I still do not understand, but the questions rattle a little quieter.

We have to sell our home, our belongings. 

Our neighbor keeps some for us, but we leave most behind.

We take clothes.

We prepare for the ordeal that faces us.

We board a train and are assigned to one of ten camps. 

Where are we going to live?

What are they going to do with us?

How long is this going to last?

So many questions but no answers.

We arrive. 

They ask a thousand questions. 

Finally, finally, they stop. 

We are led to a tiny apartment.

There is barely enough room for us all.

I can tell father is angry, but he is so tired.

He falls into a chair.

Mother looks at the mattresses.

I think, are those filled with straw?

We are not animals, to sleep on straw.

I am horrified to find I have spoken these thoughts out loud.

Be grateful you do not have to sleep on the floor, mother says.

I act grateful, but my thoughts still grumble.

Why do we have to live like this?

Why? We are citizens.

Why? We are free people.

Why? 

They are blind. 

They see “Japanese” and panic.

I hear them in my head.

“Spy” 

“traitor”

Why won’t these thoughts stop?

Why do I have so many questions?

Why does nobody have the answers?

Why?

We live.

We survive.

We hear the news:

The Japanese are no longer a threat.

We wonder:

Does this mean freedom for us?

Can we go home?

But deep down we all know:

There is no home left for us.

We sold our house. 

We sold our belongings.

Who would welcome us?

We hear the news:

We can go back home.

Home?

Don’t they know?

 They forced us to sell our homes.

What are we supposed to go back to?

What is left for us?

We prepare to leave, most of us not caring where we go.

Anything to get out of this place, mother says.

I nod my head, but

Inside myself, I think

This familiar place is better than an unfamiliar one.

We stay with my uncle. 

His friends had offered to watch his house while he was “away”

We search for a place to call home.

Inside, I wonder.

What will life be like?

Can it ever be “normal” again?

Will anyone ever trust us?

I make a promise to myself.

When this is over,

When things are as “normal” again,

I will write.

I will write about my feelings that fateful day.

I will write about how we were treated.

I will write, so that the world may know the truth.

I will write, so that people can see our side.

I will write, to give my people a voice.

I will write, to bring this to light.

People will cringe, 

They will try to hide the truth.

But I am the voice of my people.

I am the words that will make us truly free.

I am the truth.