In that classroom, I was the one who chose silence.
But that silence was destined to be broken.
Because I had come face to face with a question I could not escape—as a Japanese person.
｜The Greatest Adventure of My Life Began After Cancer
After completing my first stay in the United States, I made the decision to return.
This time, with a clear goal: to earn a degree.
Looking back, it was the greatest adventure of my life.
If I had not been diagnosed with cancer at 25—
I would have never made this choice.
People can always find reasons to choose the safe path.
A calm, ordinary, predictable life.
But I chose uncertainty. I chose difficulty.
After cancer, an “ordinary life” was no longer enough.
If I have a choice, I will choose the life only I can live.
That is my definition of Quality of Life.
｜Baruch College — A Microcosm of the World
I attended Baruch College, part of the City University of New York (CUNY),
known for its focus on business.
Located in the heart of Manhattan, it is often seen as a gateway to Wall Street.
There, I met students standing at the starting line of the American Dream.
They were dazzling.
Confident. Certain of their future. Unafraid to speak their minds.
There was one defining difference between Japan and this place:
“If you don’t speak, you don’t exist.”
That was the reality of the classroom.
｜The Language Barrier — And Why I Was Still Evaluated
I was the worst speaker in the class.
When I got nervous, my Japanese accent became even stronger.
Some classmates told me they couldn’t understand me during presentations.
Three minutes was my limit.
Sometimes, I froze.
But every time—someone helped me.
My teammates picked up my words, connected them, amplified them.
They carried my voice further than I could.
The professors also understood how structurally complex Japanese is.
Before submitting essays, it was an unspoken rule: go to the language center.
It took me several times longer than native speakers.
And yet—
My essays were evaluated fairly.
Why?
Because they weren’t looking at “perfect English.”
They were looking at my thinking.
｜An Education That Never Gave Me Answers
In American classrooms, answers are not given.
Instead, you are asked:
“What do you think?”
“Why do you think that?”
There is no escape from these questions.
What saved me was my Japanese moral education,
and the training I received in media studies—learning to form and express my own opinions.
In the end, that became my greatest strength in America.
｜The Day I Chose Silence in a Classroom About Racism
My program at Baruch College was, of course, primarily focused on business-related coursework.
However, for my minor and general education requirements, I chose classes that were uniquely reflective of New York and the United States.
BLS 1003
“The Evolution and Expressions of Racism”
One day, we discussed the fatal shooting of a Black teenager by a police officer in 2014.
The classroom, where 80% of the students were Black, grew intense.
I stayed silent.
Not because of English.
Because I was afraid of being misunderstood.
Then, a Black female student spoke.
“I won’t say anything. I don’t want to.”
The room froze.
She continued:
“My brother is a police officer. If the suspect has a gun, my brother could be the one who dies.”
No one argued.
In that moment, I understood:
Justice is not singular.
Truth shifts depending on where you stand.
｜The Moment I Was Asked to Answer “As a Japanese Person”
For the final assignment, the professor suggested a topic to me:
“Japanese Americans and Internment Camps.”
Time stopped.
And then—I answered immediately.
“I’ll do it.”
It was not something I could run away from.
｜Historical Truth: What the Internment Camps Were
In 1942, President Franklin D. Roosevelt issued Executive Order 9066.
During World War II, approximately 120,000 Japanese Americans
were forcibly removed from the West Coast.
Most of them were U.S. citizens.
Homes. Land. Businesses—
everything was taken.
They were sent to camps built in deserts and remote areas.
Poorly constructed barracks, harsh conditions, no freedom.
This was, without question,
one of the most severe violations of civil rights in American history.
(In 1988, the U.S. government formally apologized and provided reparations.)
｜“Don’t You Hate America?” — The Question
After my presentation, I was asked:
“Don’t you hate America?”
Some justified the atomic bombings because of Pearl Harbor.
But this is how I saw it:
War is a decision made by nations,
not a measure of individual morality.
Kamikaze pilots and American soldiers alike
fought to protect what they believed they had to protect.
I could not blame one side alone.
｜Another Truth Told by Hiroshima
In Hiroshima, there is a fact that continues to be quietly passed down.
There is a record that the names of twelve American soldiers who were exposed to the atomic bombing
are listed in the official registry of atomic bomb victims.
According to Hideaki Miyama, then president of Hiroshima Television,
their names are inscribed on the memorial at Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park
and are mourned alongside Japanese victims.
Beyond nationality, they are remembered simply as “victims.”
There are also voices in Hiroshima that do not strongly demand an apology
for the atomic bombing—this, too, is a reality.
Standing before that truth,
even as a fellow Japanese person,
I cannot help but feel the weight of speaking lightly about it,
having been born and raised in Tokyo.
｜My Grandmother’s Words — And the Irony of Fate
When a relative of mine married an American,
the family opposed it.
Only my grandmother said:
“Cherish the life you choose.”
Her brother had died as a kamikaze pilot.
And I—
was living in Manhattan, where the atomic bomb had been developed.
A place that once divided the world,
and the place where I was living, became connected by a single line.
History is not something confined to the past.
It crosses time, borders, and lives on within us.
｜Quality of Life — My Philosophy
At the end of this chapter, I arrived at three truths:
- Justice is never singular
What you see depends on where you stand. - Silence is a choice—but so is speaking
I chose silence once. But there will always be a moment when I must speak. - The will to understand is the first step toward coexistence
Not denying differences—but trying to understand them.
The world is not easy to reconcile.
Still, we must never stop trying to understand one another.
That, for me, is
Quality of Life — the ability to live with the world.
