Starfish

by Akemi Dawn Bowman

she looks at me like I don’t belong. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because I look nothing like her. I have dark hair and a wide jaw and stumpy legs; Mom has loose blond curls, a narrow chin, and legs like a supermodel. We’re just different, like we exist on different spectrums. If I lived on an iceberg, Mom would live inside a volcano.

he made his friend Anthony pull me aside to tell me that Henry wasn’t into girls who looked like me. I remember not understanding it. Girls who looked like me. Did he mean girls with dark hair? Girls who wore jeans instead of skirts? Girls who didn’t have their ears pierced? Or did he mean something else? For years I watched him hold hands with girls who didn’t look anything like me. And some of them had dark hair. Some of them wore jeans. Plenty of them didn’t have their ears pierced. But they all had one thing in common: None of them were Asian.

He said he could see himself in Japanese cartoons in a way he couldn’t with American ones, so he started collecting Japanese comics.

“You are, Kiko. You’re exotic-looking. People love that.” The word makes me wince. Exotic. Like Princess Jasmine. It’s how Adam sees me. It’s probably how everyone sees me. Like I don’t belong. “I don’t want someone to like me because I’m ‘exotic,’ ” I say. “It makes it sound like I’m an acquired taste, or something someone tries once in a while.” “It doesn’t mean anything bad. It just means you’re different,” she says. “Exactly,” I say. She narrows her hazel eyes. “Are you trying to tell me you’d rather be mashed potatoes than crème brûlée?” “I’m saying I don’t want to be the thing that people like once in a while, or because they think it’s unique or exotic.” I don’t want to be kissed by someone who is ashamed about it later because I don’t have blue eyes and blond hair and I might disappoint their parents.

the side I feel like I’m supposed to be connected to, even though I don’t know anything about it. Everyone expects me to be Asian, not white, because of the way I look. But I’m only half Japanese—I’m the same amount of Asian as I am white. Why doesn’t anyone ever call me half white? It’s confusing. I wonder if it will always be confusing.

I’ve always wanted her to be a part of what makes me happy,

Besides, even if Mom was bipolar, that’s not an excuse. There are plenty of parents in the world with mental health conditions who don't treat their children badly.

“We all start at the same place, but you’re completely in charge of where you finish,”

“We all have to dream our own dreams. We only get one life to live—live it for yourself, not anyone else. Because when you’re on your deathbed, you’re going to be wishing you had. When everyone else is on theirs, I guarantee they aren’t going to be thinking about your life.”

I don’t have to be white to be beautiful, just like I don’t have to be Asian to be beautiful. Because beauty doesn’t come in one mold.

This is the last puzzle piece—kissing Jamie makes my life feel whole.