Japan. Land of the rising sun. I held my face in the warm rays that fell from the bright blue sky to the earth. While I was walking down the main street of our little town, not that far from Tokyo, many glances followed me and especially often got stuck on my hair. I smiled to myself. Red and gold hair was simply an attraction in a country where almost only black-haired people lived and because of that alone I received a lot of unambiguous / ambiguous offers, all of which I turned down. As already mentioned, my freedom was very important to me.
I was on my way from the doctor's office to school. My parents had stormed into my room this morning when they heard me scream and said I had fought like crazy. I honestly couldn't remember any of this. It seemed that all of my memories of that terrifying moment this morning were hazy and partially gone.I couldn't even remember the pictures that I had seen as if in a fever, but I still knew exactly how terrible they had been and what feelings they had triggered in me.
The whole event seemed to me to be far away and very unreal in the bright sun I was in at the moment. I was probably still too absorbed in my recurring dream and, when I opened this box, had practically continued it. I didn't believe in such bells and whistles about witches, devils and rebirths, it was all just a figment of my vivid imagination. Still, despite the warm weather, I shivered. So I pushed the thought away.
I wrinkled my nose. This Heinz from a doctor hadn't wanted to let me go ... He kept saying that that was "extremely interesting" and was just bustling around me the whole time. Perhaps it has to be added that I have developed a strong aversion to doctors and the older I get the worse it seems to get.Not against the people themselves, on the contrary, I knew some very nice doctors of pleasant natures, but I just hate it when someone touches me. For as long as I could remember, I didn't like it at all when someone examines my body. Now it's not that I'm averse to physical contact, not at all, but I didn't like the restlessness that befell me when a doctor looked at my body as if it were almost an object. And today it had been a particularly unpleasant spectacle. My parents had taken me to the damn hospital - still screaming, by the way - where I must have calmed down at some point. In any case, this ward doctor appeared and almost didn't want to let me go. He was young, and quite handsome and pleasant to look at, but he was so intrigued by the background of my breakdown - the details of which I couldn't even remember - that he looked at me almost like an object of research.For him, however, spoke his enthusiasm, the true love for his job, and that he finally let go of me when he noticed how tense I was in front of him. So he apologized dearly - he was almost cute - and dismissed me with the comment that I was physically in top shape and apparently only had a shock, and I didn't need to "endure" any further examinations. I was slightly ashamed that he could see through me so easily, and that I had shown my displeasure so clearly, so I smiled back and even thanked him (which was more of a symbolic value). He beamed at me and just said that if I had problems again, I should just come over ...
I rolled my eyes in amusement at the memory. Men are all the same after all.

Cars honked, the traffic light changed to green and I crossed the street. My school was already in sight. Although my parents had insisted on bringing me today after my little psychological trip, I wanted to be independent and walk the two kilometers to school.I enjoyed going to school relatively, here in Japan only very well trained faculty taught, the level was high and the teaching was first class. It probably sounds incredibly boastful, but I've always found learning easy. I never had to do a lot of cramming, I was usually able to remember everything immediately if I understood it. In addition, since my childhood I was used to having to change and adapt quickly. As mentioned before, my parents traveled so much through world history that we never stayed in one place for long. There was never really such a thing as a home. But that never bothered me. On the contrary, I was enthusiastic and, due to this fact, something like a little language wonder. In fact, because of the travels and my parents, who had an even larger repertoire, I was fluent in 6 languages ​​- English, French, Greek, Japanese, Spanish and Old Latin. Besides, I can't speak a little Italian, a few words of Russian and German.Unfortunately not that much of other languages ​​yet, but I thought about taking a course in Turkish or Arabic. Unfortunately, my historical research was still holding me back at the moment, but what hasn't happened yet can still be done.
We - my family - thought we were a bit multicultural, as we didn't really belong to any nation. My father was originally Canadian and my mother Irish, from her I also inherited the red hair and the green eyes. However, my paternal family comes from Japan, which my great-grandfather unfortunately had to leave many decades ago due to some family matter. But he had never forgotten his great love for his fatherland, and he passed it on to his descendants as well, which is the reason that I was also able to read and write Japanese fluently. This culture is actually very fascinating and I spent hours exploring and studying it.Now we have returned to the country of origin, a country whose people have remained so friendly but at the same time so traditional. What always makes me smile a little is the fact that the Japanese love to take on so many things from other cultures, regardless of whether that goes with their own. A good example: Christmas, a festival that is celebrated in many families in Japan, although it has nothing to do with their history, tradition or religion. In addition, the Japanese can be absolutely fanatical about nonsensical things ... a very amiable trait, which I have never understood and will probably never fully understand.
Well, now we were here. My mother was a professor of medieval history at an elite university in Tokyo, which wasn't far away, and my father was an archaeologist and enthusiastically excavated ruins, which he always raved about in the evenings.We are not only a language-loving family, but also a history-loving family, and one day I will also take a similar direction, I think.
We would stay here for a while now, I knew that. My father was thrilled to live in his actual homeland (although outwardly he didn't even look very much like a Japanese) and wanted to spend a few years here. It was already foreseeable that the wanderlust would grab my parents again, but I didn't know if I would come with them ... I was old enough to stand on my own two feet and the two of them should be without for a while spend me

When I arrived at the school, I met our grim-looking groundsman, who looked at me as if he wanted to hold me personally accountable for why I was so late. Smiling innocently, I showed him the apology signed by the doctor and my parents.Grumbling, he turned away. It was widely known in our school that he enjoyed nothing more than reprimanding young students. With me he had always drawn the short straw. I continued into the school building. Fortunately, the doorbell rang for the third lesson and I didn't have to burst in the middle of class.
My "little experience" from this morning was almost forgotten, even if I wasn't the type who quickly overlooks all things. Still, there was this sting inside me ... What did this all mean?