Story by BROOKE WILLIAMS

It was during the eleventh hour when at last they broke the language barrier for a moment. After 10 days of aiming to communicate, they finally understood what was being said. In fact, it was the only thing said during their stay in Japan that they certainly understood. It was “goodbye.”

They were on their way back to the airport, wrapping up a 10-day trip which they felt went by as fast as the two-month wait for the trip had felt slow. Four months earlier, brothers Mitchell and Treyton Imamura submitted applications through the Kakehashi Project. The Japanese government program partners with the Japanese American Citizens League to offer young Japanese Americans the opportunity to visit Japan in a larger effort to strengthen relations that join the United States and Japan.

“The Kakehashi Program was instituted when I was the national director of the JACL in D.C. Of course I wanted to see our local Salt Lake youth, where I’m from and I was born and raised, be part of the program,” said Floyd Mori, who served as the national executive director of the JACL.

Mori discussed in a phone interview his sense of obligation to do his part in building the bridge, or kakehashi, between his countries of origin. Having a pride in his identity is what drove him through such a successful career, so he felt it was important to share that confidence with other Japanese Americans, starting with those in his hometown.

Growing up during World War II, Mori said he experienced firsthand stereotypes and prejudices that made him ashamed of who he was. His family was always active with the JACL but one day he noticed that his interaction within his community helped to develop a better understanding of the culture. Because of that understanding, he became more appreciative of who he was.

“There is a sense of, you know, we’re real, we can do something, we can be something, and we’re as full of a human being as anybody else, regardless what their background might be,” Mori explained.

Thanks to Mori’s encouragement, the Imamura brothers said they received their acceptance letter a month after they applied. The excitement grew as they prepared for the trip, and Trey couldn’t help but remember his humanitarian trip to Brazil nearly 10 years before. He focused on keeping an open mind, free of assumptions and expectations.

Two months later, Mitch, Trey, and several other Japanese Americans from around the U.S. flew from Los Angeles to Tokyo, where they were separated into smaller groups to travel with throughout the trip. Mori was with Trey’s group as an advisor, so Mitch was on his own to make new friends during his travel.

He took photos of things he found interesting or could relate to, starting with the Japanese Overseas Migration Museum in Yokohama. Some photos included an ad for a Japanese hotel in Salt Lake City, a table crowded with international Japanese foods, a baseball glove and bat, and a basic butsudan, or Japanese Buddhist family altar.

It wasn’t long before Mitch encountered his first culture shock, he said. His first meal was a can of corn chowder from a vending machine. To his surprise, the soup was hot and meal ready. After that, Mitch said, “Whenever I saw a vending machine I just bought something, anything.”

His group’s homestay family invited them into their home in the outskirts of Semboku City. Everyone took their shoes off at the door as standard practice they were already used to. Mitch said he shivered throughout the tour of their home. It was February and central heating was uncommon in the countryside. When he came across the family’s butsudan, he was so amused by the regular upkeep with the altar that he almost forgot it was cold.

“A big part of the Japanese Buddhist ideology is that everything is impermanent, and that we can’t hold on to things. When you have food or flowers on a shrine, you are adding to the things that will go away and you have to keep replacing them with things,” Mitch said. “The religious symbolism in it is impermanence, that nothing is permanent in this world and that everything will go away.”

He continued to see things in a new light throughout the trip, he said. He felt at home. He was familiar with much of Japanese culture and was able to connect his memories with his experiences.

The group’s homestay dad took them to the grocery store. Mitch’s roommate, who spoke limited Japanese, translated for the dad. He said he was excited to introduce them to a food they might not have seen before. But Mitch said he recognized sakura mochi, a Japanese confectionery made with rice and red bean paste. He described it as a pastry almost as sweet as the nostalgia it evoked from when his mom made it for him and his brother.

“Throughout my trip was a lot of confirmation that I know Japanese culture really well. There were also things that I didn’t know, so I guess those things together affirmed to me that I am very strongly Japanese and American, and it affirmed to me that there are differences between being Japanese and Japanese American,” Mitch said, explaining how he finds balance within his cultural identity.

On their way to Akita, Mitch had a memorable conversation with a roommate about how they express their cultures back home in the U.S. His roommate said he felt more Japanese just for being there in Japan. Being from the South, there weren’t many other Asian Americans to relate with. His only connection to his Japanese culture was watching anime.

Mitch took photos through the windows of the bullet train windows as they arrived in Akita. There, he experienced something completely new to him — lantern balancing. According to legend, it was once a way for the people of Akita to represent their small towns in a competition. They would hold massive poles with more poles at the top that attached a number of artistic lanterns. While it’s not practiced as a competition today, it serves as a community gathering event.

As he watched the lantern balancing, Mitch said it reminded him of the lanterns that decorate the Obon Festival in Salt Lake City, which for him is an emotional celebration of ancestry. When his turn to balance the lanterns came, he felt almost nostalgic of his own connection to the lanterns, but it was different because he didn’t have a great understanding of lantern balancing.

Discovery was a repeating theme, Mitch said. The group went to a snow festival in Akita, where he enjoyed new foods like kiritanpo, an Akita Prefecture original rice dish, and saw intricately detailed snow sculptures. With the language barrier, he said he would remind himself not to let his American tendencies exoticize everything he saw because he was there to experience, not interpret.

“I don’t know if the festival actually had any religious meaning behind It, or cultural meaning, or if it was just a fun thing to do in the community, but it was a way for them to do something together,” Mitch observed.

Meanwhile, Trey was also making discoveries and connections through experiences with his group. In the town of Minakami located in the Gunma Prefecture, Trey’s homestay family began each day with breakfast before they embarked on whatever adventures the day had in store. Trey said their host expected nothing in return. At one point, Trey recalled, he said a familiar word, kimochi. Without hesitation, Trey thought of his mom.

“She’d always say this word kimochi, kimochi, and I never really fully understood what it meant,” Trey remembered. “She always said it was ‘from the heart, from the heart.’”

He said he came to the realization that his homestay family did generous acts for the group simply because they wanted their guests to have a nice breakfast, they cared. Despite not speaking Japanese, there was a mutual understanding of kimochi as the action not the word.

“The connection that I felt there was beyond words, because I always heard that with my own family and Japanese community. I could never establish an understanding, but after going to Japan and seeing that culture it reaffirmed that we are still Japanese,” Trey said. “It’s who we are and what we do in a lot of our cultural practices.”

Having experienced trains in Hong Kong and New York City, Trey said the systems in Japan were culturally shocking because of the overall cleanliness, to which he credits Japanese culture and respect for others. He said this distinguished his Japanese culture from his American culture and from Asian cultures in general. He spoke about how his ancestors’ struggles with their identity shapes who he is today.

“I’m not going to say that I carry trauma from my grandparents being put into internment camps,” Trey said, “but it’s a sad time in our history where my family was … seen as aliens.”

The Kakehashi Project held a sayōnara luncheon in Tokyo. Trey reflected on his favorite experiences, and said the public bathing house was particularly memorable.

“We were out in this natural hot spring and it starts to snow in Japan. And in the wind — it’s cold, and you’re in the hot water and just looking up at the moon, and I was like, life doesn’t get any better than this,” he said.

Then, a familiar song played during the luncheon. He said he once heard it in a documentary and loved its expression of homesickness and the constant desire to return home.

“It was just really interesting to have this song where they’re talking about that. It’s a very common concept in Japanese culture to go home … and that’s where you know you came from,” Trey said.

On the bus ride to the airport, Mitch’s tour guide sang a melody he recognized. He said he sang along and described a connection he felt with his tour guide, which brought a realization of “we’re not that different.” The song was “Sugiyaki,” a popular worldwide hit some 40 years ago.

 “Now when I hear that song, I think of her singing it a cappella to us on a bus,” Mitch said. “It’s a very nice upbeat song, but it’s about people leaving you forever and not being able to see people again.”

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