The Girl by the Sea (Countryhumans AU)

Alone

Written: January 26, 2024

After lunch, I feel my head spinning with an insufferable amount of questions. I like music, poetry, and dancing, but it's so different from Japan's, but it isn't like China's either. I know a lot of my people are settlers from China in the Ming Dynasty. I used to be my own island, but my dad made me a prefecture after World War Two. Even before that, he dictated everything. My people and I weren't allowed to speak Okinawan, have milestone tattoos, or follow our beliefs.

I always believed in the idea of a mabui. A mabui is the essence of a person in the Utaki Shinko religion, which everyone else calls Ryukyu Shinto. A mabui can be lost after a shocking event. I'd always hang around noros and yutas on their missions. I love the idea of mabui, and I think a lot of countries have lost theirs. The yutas say there is a way to find it when it's lost, but I don't think I can help. I'm not a noro or a yuta.

Dad would always get mad at me when I complained about having nightmares about kijimuna. Kijikuma are short boys with fiery red hair that play pranks on people—America calls them trolls. I see a lot of statues of kijimuna when I visit the Yomitan area.

One thing I never see on mainland Japan is shisa. Shisa dogs are guardians of buildings and are a lion-dog hybrid. One keeps its mouth closed to keep the good spirits in, the other leaves it open to scare the bad spirits away. It's adapted from Chinese lóng.

Dad never really liked my beliefs and said I had a screw loose. I keep miniature shisa statues on my windowsill. I named them Nakamura and Miyagi. Before Dad died, I always hid them away. Because of him, I slowly drifted away from believing that shisa dogs protect one from harm. I keep them because they're culture and the slightest sliver of hope that they can protect me.

I watched as Habu Babu slept on a shelf, the end of his tail hanging over the edge while the rest of him was coiled like a spring. I shouldn't rush it. Self discovery doesn't happen in an instant. I'm afraid of asking my siblings questions, though. That's what makes this worse. South is too emotional, Japan is too vague, and North most likely has unresolved anger issues. I'm not risking it.

Japan doesn't really care what I believe in. She's very different from Dad. Well, she's still distant, but she doesn't yell at me a lot. I remember when I tried to explain to her why I love going to the utaki, the sacred groves. She listened, her expression unreadable. She acknowledged my words, but I could tell the cultural gap was vast. To her, my beliefs might have seemed like distant echoes of a time long past.

As I ponder these thoughts, I decide to visit the nearby utaki after lunch. The rustling leaves and ancient stones create an atmosphere that resonates with the essence of my people. It's a place where I feel a connection to the roots of my culture, where the mabui whispers in the wind.

The path to the utaki is lined with vibrant hibiscus flowers, their petals a contrast to the lush greenery. The familiar scent of incense wafts through the air as I approach the sacred site. I close my eyes and breathe it in, letting the aroma carry me to a place where tradition and spirituality intertwine.

Sitting on a worn stone, I reflect on the conflict within me. The clash between the expectations imposed by history and the yearning for personal identity echoes in the sacred grove. The utaki stands as a silent witness to the stories of my ancestors and the struggles they faced.

I reach out to touch the gnarled trunk of a sacred tree, feeling the rough texture beneath my fingertips. In the tranquility of this place, I try to reconcile the fragments of my identity scattered across time. I think of the shisa statues on my windowsill. They may symbolize my cultural heritage, but the journey to understanding oneself is an intricate puzzle.

As I sit in contemplation, I hear the distant sound of a sanshin, a traditional Okinawan musical instrument. Its melodic notes carry a sense of nostalgia, a reminder of the rich cultural tapestry woven through the ages. The sanshin player's hands move skillfully over the strings, creating a harmony that resonates with the echoes of the past. The only thing I don't like about sanshin, is that it's made from habu snake skin.

With renewed determination, I decide to embrace the complexities of my identity. The mabui within me may be entangled in the threads of history, but perhaps, in the dance of self-discovery, I can find the rhythm that resonates with my soul.

Leaving the utaki, I decide to visit the Yomitan area where the statues of kijimuna stand. The playful tricksters with fiery red hair, embodiments of folklore, seem to embody the mischievous spirit that has persisted in the collective imagination of my people.

As I wander through the Yomitan village, the statues tell silent stories of a time when myths and reality coexisted. I can almost hear the laughter of kijimuna echoing through the centuries, their pranks leaving an indelible mark on the cultural landscape.

Back home, Nakamura and Miyagi, my miniature shisa statues, stand proudly on my windowsill, I smile. These guardians may not have the power to ward off all harm, but they represent a connection to cultural roots and a defiance against the attempts to erase the essence of who I am.

Night falls, and the brightness that usually keeps me awake becomes a comforting embrace. With Habu Babu resting peacefully, I lay on my bed, contemplating the intricate dance of identity, culture, and self-discovery. The unanswered questions may linger, but the journey to unravel them is an ongoing process—a journey that unfolds with each step in the rhythm of life on this unique island.

As the night envelops me, I close my eyes, hoping that in the vast tapestry of dreams, I might find fragments of a mysterious mabui that whispers through the ages, guiding me to a deeper understanding of who I am. I may be alone in this discovery, but if that's what it takes to learn who I am, I'm up for it.

While writing this chapter, I contemplated all types of soul-crushing trauma to put Oki through...

Anyway, should Australia and Okinawa have a battle with snakes (In my AU, they're friends because of tourism and they both like snakes)