In one of my stories, I talk about how fragile life in America feels to me. One small misstep—one forgotten form, one misunderstood answer—and the music stops. There’s no safety net waiting to catch me. I have to be my own.
The story happened seven years ago.
I said it out loud on stage three years ago.
Since then, everything has changed—fast and drastically.
Now, it feels even more relevant.
Back then, the rules felt simple:
Follow the laws.
Pay taxes.
Keep your status legal.
So I did. I still do.
People say, “But you’re Japanese. You have a Green Card. You’re safe.”
Am I though?
I’m sure the people who were detained and deported thought they were safe, too. They had legal status. No criminal record. They followed the rules—just like I did.
And still, it wasn’t enough.
And those students whose visas were suddenly revoked? I doubt they did anything differently than I did when I had mine.
This isn’t someone else’s problem.
This is our problem.
Because a system that turns on one of us can turn on any of us.
Every time I return to the U.S., I get nervous at customs. If I’m ever pulled aside for one of those mysterious “interviews,” my brain will go completely blank. I always struggle to answer those personal questions the financial websites ask to verify my identity.
If I can’t remember my zip code from 2010, does that make me suspicious?
Lately, I’ve heard some stories about Japanese Green Card holders being pulled aside at airports. Escorted to a separate room. Told it’s “standard procedure.” Asked about their families, their backgrounds, their pasts.
No one knows what they’re looking for.
Worse—no one knows what the wrong answers are.
And still, I know I’m lucky.
If I had a different nationality…
If my skin color were different…
If I didn’t speak English at all…
If my parents were still alive…
If I had a family here depending on me…
This would be a different story.
The stakes would be even higher.
The system, even less forgiving.
And here I am, sharing all of this with you.
Will it get me in trouble?
Will I be flagged as a threat just for telling my concerns? I hope not.
But even if it does—I’d rather be seen than disappear quietly.
Because silence doesn’t protect us. It just isolates us.
This is a sneak peek of the story I’ll be telling on May 18. If you’re in town, come catch the matinee at Fanatic Salon Theater.