Amara's Diary: When Nothing Free Ever Lasts
My African American Mom married a rich Japanese man.
As I moved the skeleton of my new bed next to the window, I felt a gaze focused on me. Outside my window, was the house next door. The house shape was similar to ours, so it also had a window facing mine at the same level. Standing there on the other side was a skinny Japanese boy.
As soon as I laid eyes on him, he stiffened, then shyly smiled and waved. 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?
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.
If someone were to tell me later I'd come to care about him deeply, I'd find to hard to believe. For as long as I could remember I've always felt empty. And that emptiness, I hid on instinct.