Crónicas Nikkei #4 — La Familia Nikkei: Memorias, Tradiciones, y Valores

Los roles y las tradiciones de la familia nikkei son únicos porque han evolucionado a través de muchas generaciones, basados en varias experiencias sociales, políticas, y culturales del país del que ellos migraron.

Descubra a los Nikkei ha reunido historias de todo el mundo relacionadas con el tema de la familia nikkei, que incluyen historias que cuentan la manera cómo tu familia ha influido en la persona que eres y que nos permiten entender tus puntos de vista sobre lo que es la familia. Esta serie presenta estas historias.

Para esta serie, hemos pedido a nuestros Nima-kai que voten por sus historias favoritas y a nuestro comité editorial que escoja sus favoritas.

Aquí estás las historias favoritas elegidas.

  Las elegidas del Comité Editorial:

  La elegida por Nima-Kai:

Para saber más sobre este proyecto de escritura >>

Mira también estas series de Crónicas Nikkei:

#1: ¡ITADAKIMASU! Sabores de la cultura nikkei 
#2: Nikkei+ ~ Historias de Lenguaje, Tradiciones, Generaciones y Raza Mixtos ~
#3: Nombres Nikkei: ¿Taro, John, Juan, João? 
#5: Nikkei-go: El idioma de la familia, la comunidad y la cultura 
#6: ¡Itadakimasu 2! Otros sabores de la cultura nikkei
#7: Raíces Nikkei: Indagando en Nuestra Herencia Cultural

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A Letter to My Parents

Dear Teresa, Victor, and Maria Hito,

While anyone would agree you are far from traditional, I find myself now embracing our strange tendencies. Living among Japanese Peruvian immigrants with amusing accents may not seem difficult; however, I assure you it carries its burdens.

Growing up with a mom that isolated herself from socializing with other prosperous thriving parents, leaning on an uncle who replaced the supposed much needed father in my life, and explaining to my sweet grandmother the foreign English words she fought hard to understand. These people made up my childhood which I recall fondly upon.

However, I ...

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Round Trip: An American, In Japan During World War II, Comes Home

Masuo John (Matt) Koike was born in New York in 1935 to first-generation Japanese parents, Izumi and Iku, who had emigrated from Japan. Before moving to the United States, Masuo’s father, Izumi, classically trained as a chef in Paris. In the Bronx, Masuo’s parents owned and operated several small restaurants.

At a young age, Masuo accompanied his mother to Yokohama, Japan, for an extended visit with his grandparents. Unfortunate circumstances required that his mother return to New York, leaving Masuo to stay with family. In the months to come, Masuo’s older half-brother, Satoshi, was to accompany Masuo ...

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From Okinawa to Hawaii and Back Again

I am a Hapa, Yonsei Uchinanchu (a mixed-race, 4th-generation Okinawan-American) who was born in Riverside, California, in 1973 and raised in the shadow of the Cascade Mountains in Washington state. My mom’s roots stem from Spanish-Basque migrants in California and white southerners in Tennessee. My father is Okinawan from Hawaii. Because I don’t look quite white, people frequently ask, “What are you?” From an early age, even though Hawaii and Japan were enigmas to me, I have had to explain my relationship to these “exotic” places.

Growing up, we lived by my mother’s family and visited ...

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What Meeting My Long-lost Uncle Taught Me About Family

Until I went to Japan, I’d talked to my uncle only twice: once when my Japanese grandmother died, and again when my grandfather did.

Only two people regularly called the house and spoke in Japanese, and I knew both their voices well: the elderly one was my great-aunt; the younger one with a British accent was Mayumi, an old friend of my mom’s, who Anglicized her name herself, as “Muh-you-me.” So when the “moshi-moshi”—that special phone version of “hello”—came across the line in a deep voice that sounded thoroughly Japanese without a hint of California breeziness ...

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Lighthearted

In my family we told stories; we reminisced. During and after meals. Sitting in the living room all together for no particular reason. Because we were all so tightly bound together there was no need for a beginning, middle, and end. One of us would utter a single sentence, a phrase. That was enough. It was a cue. “Oh, I remember.” We would smile and nod, and like a chorus replay together the memory. The stories were always about one of us or all of us. Sometimes there was a lesson. Sometimes a character flaw revealed. But the endings were ...

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