Lindsey Takahashi

COMM 174-02
Loyer
August 25 2014
Afraid
On April 14
th
, 2011, my younger brother and I were wandering the bustling streets of
Tokyo when the big earthquake hit. We were near a park, so we ran to the bathroom building for
safety. It was chaos outside; the amount of people running around and screaming was
overwhelming. The tremendous shaking of the ground was terrifying and I longed for comfort.
As soon as the trembling was over, I grabbed my brothers arm, and ordered him to help me
search the crowds for Hitomi, my mothers cousin. After a time, he finally yelled out, I see her,
over there! I looked to the far right, and sure enough, in the distance I could see her lips moving
to form the sounds of my name. Immediately, I ran off with my brother in hand towards Hitomi
and her husband. She held me close and explained how worried she was about me. As if she was
my real mother, she took my own hand and led me to an area strangely free of disorder and
crowds.
As we sat down, she dropped the tote bag she had been carrying. A tin box full of colored
pencils spilled out and I rushed to help gather them. That was when I recognized those special
watercolor pencils. I have those same pencils at my home in America! I looked up at her, and
saw that it was not Hitomis face. Somehow I was staring into the face of Shoko, my deceased
aunt. The Hitomi/Shoko combination quietly replied, Those are my favorite.
Yeah, I think they belonged to you before, I told the face of Shoko. But with the blink
of an eye, Hitomi returned to her normal self, and I started to cry.
It felt like an eternity, but my mother finally met up with the four of us. I got up to greet
her, and she revealed a green bicycle that she saved for me. She told me it was time to go home,
and started sprinting away. Still sensitive about the previous ghostly experience, I grabbed the
tote bag and rode off without looking back at Hitomi.
My mother led me to a forest at the base of a mountain. I followed the thin trail up, with
the bicycle tires dangerously close to the edge. The tote bag was suddenly reminiscent of a red
bag I had in my childhood, and could now be slung on my back. I struggled up the mountain,
trying to keep up with my mother. When I caught up to her, she tore the bag off my back, threw
it on the ground, and continued hurrying away. Filled with disbelief and sadness, it did not
matter to me if I lost her again. I carefully cleaned the dirt off the bag and the tin box. Solemnly,
I prepared to journey the rest of the way alone. For the last time, I looked over the steep trail into
the forest below.
The rest of this dream is fuzzy, and what I do have written down makes less sense than
what I shared. However, the reason I chose to share this particular dream is because I felt so
afraid throughout it. In all my 20 years, I have been living in fear of the world. As a child, fear
was simply a spider scurrying by or dizziness after looking down from a tall building. After
graduating high school, getting a job, and entering college, the world just became even more
fragile to me. I am afraid of getting in a car accident, or losing my job, or not being able to pay
off debts.
But deeper than those fears are the ones Ive carried since the passing of my aunt, and
more recently, the passing of my grandmother. I am afraid that I will lose my mother before I
ever gain her approval. I am afraid of losing my siblings. I am afraid that I did not get to know
my deceased family well enough when I had the chance. I am afraid of natural disasters or
diseases destroying my home and my loved ones.
Timid, fragile, and too shy to meet new people for fear of rejection, this is who I am.