To keep this story short, my African American Mom married a rich Japanese man.

"So? What do you think?" She stretched out her arms in front of our new house.

This sort of perfectly fenced house with the family name mounted above the mailbox, I had seen these sort of middle-class homes a dozen times in anime.

It was a surreal feeling.

Something that belonged in a cartoon was right in front of me.

"Are we... really living here?" Maybe it's because of the upscale wedding or the fact that her relationships never came this far but it felt as if I were dreaming.

Instead of answering Mom lead the way into our completely empty house and introduced me to where my bedroom would be.

It would seem... she already planned everything with Mr. Step-Father (or Step-Father-san, if you will, to be honest, I forgot his name already), the purpose for each and every room had already been decided.

As I stood there, I could feel Mom watching me, waiting for a reaction.

But I ignored her on purpose. I slid open the door to my empty closet.

"Well? Do you like it?"

This room was slightly longer than my room back in Texas, which was somewhat surprising, considering the fact that Asian homes are known for being small due to land size.

I couldn't exactly call this place a shoebox. . . more like a slice of cornbread.

My room back in texas was an ice cube.

So it's a major improvement. But then again, rooms always look big until you move in furniture.

Perhaps it's too soon to rejoice.

I studied the ashwood floorboards, I love ashwood. Though I doubt Mother knew this. Having a house with a fence that also outlined the property was also a plus. It's always been a fantasy of mine.

Yes, just a fantasy.

As I took it all in, I couldn't help wondering how long this all would last, being able to stay in this room, the marriage... It's a miracle Mom even made it down the aisle, to be honest, and it's not of lack on her part.

Mom continued to watch me, I deliberately delayed my response by approaching the window.

Was this my fault?

Ever since we fought over my diary entry she found, she's begun to show interest in me all of a sudden.

It's sort of laughable.

Who does she think she is Santa? A Genie? Who told her to sacrifice herself for the sake of my own? Does she expect me to be grateful? Me? Why should I?

Who told her to give birth to me?

Mothers... they are... fascinating creatures. There are so many different types of Mothers out there, and up till then I always thought mine was the typical mom that wasn't ready, emotionally starved of love, seeking thrills and dates.

"Mar, mar?" Mom tried.

But... we're here. We're here now. I thought something like it would be impossible, so even though I don't want to admit it, I'm feeling quite touched.

In a literal sense. It feels as if I don't know this woman. It feels as if I don't know myself.

"Mara..."

I couldn't help feeling responsible for the future headache this person, Step-Father-san was liable to but then again I also felt no sympathy.

It's as my spirit animal, Ice Queen, Elza would say.

"You can't marry a man, you just met."

Same applies to men.

Skeptical, scared, and excited. Those feelings changed the forecast for my emotions of the day, not even I knew the outcome.

Will it be Sensitivity with mostly mood swings, or Indifference with an occasional chance of sass?

I didn't know what I was feeling.

Mom joined my side.

This marriage was like a cheap inflatable bouncy house, stab it with one tack and it's over.

So, even though some part of me was losing it on the inside. I refused to process any of it.

"The neighborhood's nice and quiet don't you think?" Mom attempted to hear my thoughts once more and continued. "Papa said, the movers will bring the rest of our belongings tomorrow."

Papa.

Hearing it was akin to hearing nails scraped against the chalkboard of my very soul.

In some anime, I've seen anime parents refer to their partners as such, especially so when their child is very young, so it's not that weird and comes off as cute.

But this isn't one of those things.

I realized that I was mistaken. Mom didn't sacrifice herself, no, that would be completely out of character to do such a thing! She uprooted my life for her own benefit!

Papa? PAPA?!

"Could you... not call your new husband Papa?" I ask my eyes glued on the wall in front of me as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. It was all I could do to keep it together to resist the urge for screaming like a disabled person, unable to fully express their emotions.

Not even I could quite place why but it felt like something that had seeped in was trickling out through a hole in the back of my subconscious. Like I might cry, even though I'm not sad. I'm not. Really.

"Could you not call Papa my "new husband" ?" She asked in response.

Crck.

We stared sternly at each other before Mom sighed, with finality in her voice she said, "I'm... not going to do this with you today okay? We're starting a new chapter in our lives. Let's try to make the most of it okay? I'm going to check out the salon."

Mom is a licensed cosmetologist, thanks to step-Father-san she was able to procure and design a salon nearby our neighborhood without worrying too much. That's probably the only thing I was sincerely happy for her, for.

But my heart felt stuffy. So I simply watched her back turn the corner.

Long after she's gone, a humph escapes my chest, and the tears sting my eyes but I blink those little girls back, take a breath and say,

"The cold never bothered me anyway."

I repeated it back to myself over and over.

I brought up my suitcase from downstairs.

Since I outgrew my old twin bed back in Texas, we purchased a new double-sized bed here.

Building the skeleton alone in peace and silence in Mom's absence improved my mood.

As I positioned the frame adjacent to the window, I felt a gaze on me.

Outside my window was the house next door. The house shape was similar to ours so it had a window facing mine at the same level.

Standing there on the other side was a skinny Japanese boy.

As soon as I noticed him he stiffened, then shyly smiled, even his wave was awkward. The one where you quickly pump the hair with your hand so it looks like it's vibrating...

The hell, I'm criticizing it but I honestly couldn't do much better.

I wasn't in the right mood to laugh at him or myself so I just stared.

His hair was all over the place, seeing him in his tanktop I thought to myself that he must've just rolled out of bed.

But wasn't it the afternoon already?

Well, it's not as if I couldn't relate. I've done the same before... who am I to judge him?

The boy says something but of course I can't hear him with my window closed so I slide it open.

"Eto....hi." He tried in English.

I nodded in greeting. "Hello."

His smile stretched, and I won't lie, for a second I found it endearing.

Even though there are so many anime genres out there like hentai, incest and lolicons... Japanese people themselves seemed so pure. I suppose the same could be said about my own race.

The first that comes to mind, would always be drugs, hip hop, gun violence, and twerking scantily clad women. The people that represent our race don't speak for us in all its entirety.

I could easily imagine how excited he must feel to be conversing with a foreigner, but I couldn't help but feel nervous about what he might think of me. Perhaps I would also feel the same if I hadn't encountered any Asians since the dawn of my life, a mind free from stereotypes...

The community I lived in back in Texas was supposedly populated by a lot of Koreans, from the number of Korean restaurants and churches, but the Koreans themselves all seemed to have been hiding.

Since I rarely come across any Asians aside from transfer students from China while attending High School. You could only meet them in Korean supermarkets in the area, or the Vietnamese at the Pho restaurants. And even then they were all adults.

Silence passed in between the two of us. With his messy hair he looked kinda creepy, would it be rude if I invited him to visit Mom's hair salon?

I always hated it when proper-looking women would hand me their cards, it was like an insult...but also a kind slap of honesty in the form of a business card. Still, if I did something like that, that would make me just like them.

He's probably only like that because he just woke up.

"Whatever" is what I thought to myself and decided not to mind him anymore.

My hand was already on the window, while I waved goodbye with the other. I tried a phrase I had heard many times in anime. "Then, Ja ne..."

"Ah!" I'm not sure what he was startled by, me using a Japanese phrase or me closing the window on him.

I didn't really care to wait and see what else he had to say, I had already lost interest. Seeing him was too triggering. I felt as if I were looking in a mirror.

If someone were to tell me later I'd come to care about him deeply, I'd find it hard to believe. For as long as I could remember I've always felt empty. And that emptiness, I tried to hide on instinct.