Through The Fire
Preserving Our Connections
By Mari Nakano
Saturday, April 26, 2008

I don’t know why my great grandparents came to Amer­ica. And I heard some relatives on my mother’s side tried to immigrate to Hawai’i but we don’t know what happened to them. I’m not close to my father’s side of the family who lives in Japan, but want to be. I see old black and white photos of people I’m related to but not sure how we’re con­nected. And apparently there were yakuza on my father’s side—my mother denies this, but I’d like to believe it!

There are clues everywhere that point to undiscovered stories and connections about my family. Old photo albums with their musty smell and yellowing paper, little artifacts or trinkets around the house from sometime back in Japan and occasional storytelling by my 95–year old grandmother who is starting to lose her memory…

In my mind, I’ve archived these clues, and I’m only beginning to scan in the old photos before they become too brittle to touch. I care about my family history, but feel the need to know more about it. I want to know the characters, I want to know the drama, I want to know the details, the decisions, the voices. I want to uncover serendipitous moments, I want to know what I have in common with the rest of my family, and I want to witness how things emerged in people’s lives. The reason I have this desire is because I want to pass on to future generations what I know. I want my children to know. I want my grandchildren to know. But I want to leave them with more than just traces and clues. I want to leave them with a feeling of who I am. And I somehow want to them know I thought about them even before they existed.

People ask why I just don’t join one of those online family tree websites or social networks for families? For now, that might be a good way to go, but I am seeking to do more than just record a name, a photo, and a few biographi­cal words. Plus, since part of my family only speaks Japanese, we can’t always communicate everything with each other through language. I am looking into ways to capture memory and the aura of a person. In Japanese culture and in many cultures, there is the idea that we can capture the spirit, be it in a bottle or something sacred. Can we somehow do the same with our family members? Can we find ways to make our future generations understand us or feel our presence? And if so, how can we do that in a communicable way?

I think it is important to capture lin­eage history and family stories because it is part of human nature to want to feel connected. To be connected and to understand the strings we have between one another can empower people and give them a sense of pride to not only live for themselves, but to live in ways to honor the people that have been con­nected to them. And if it’s not for honor, then perhaps understanding our pasts serves as a mirror to encourage self–re­flection and self–betterment.

So, how can we preserve stories in ways that go beyond dusty photo albums or oral histories? How can we pass on memories in a way where our children and grandchildren can find them even if we’re not there? What if we could create a technology that can attach a memory to an object, so that when we touch the object, we can hear, smell or see the story behind it, as well as be able to add our own thoughts to it for someone else to hear? What if we could keep track of ourselves and record important moments or turning point decisions in a virtual journal that our family members can have access to, as we grow old or when we pass away? And what if that’s more than just some online journal, but something we can view in the palms of our hand when we summon it? Okay, maybe that idea is a little crazy, but the basic idea of logging and sharing our trails in a way where oth­ers can feel a closer connection to you is possible. And it’s possible, because we want it to be, because we have a desire to preserve and pass on our lives. For centuries, humans have tried many ways of preserving their identities to be passed down a lineage or even passed on to an entire human race. Hieroglyphics, tombs, bibles, maps, journals, photographs and heirlooms are just some of the ways hu­mans have tried to preserve themselves. So, how about now? What can we do with the affordances we have today? With such developments as the Internet, with RFID (radio frequency identification) tags, with transportation, with our understanding of linguistics even?

What pushed my great grandparents to come to America? How did my grand­mother feel during the war in Japan? Where are all the places my father trav­eled in his life? My children are all going to have questions like these too one day. I want to share stories with my children, grandchildren and great children that they can laugh about, that they can wow over, that they can contemplate. I want leave more than just photos or old trinkets be­hind. I want to leave memories that have an aura about them. I don’t have an exact answer about how this can be done. I’m only 28. I don’t even have my own chil­dren yet. I know that my thoughts aren’t completely articulated or settled upon, but I do know that I care about something. I do know that I always think about my past, my connections, and how I’m going to shape my future with my family.
===
Mari Nakano is a Nisei member of Higashi Honganji’s Bombu Taiko. She is a freelance graphic designer and at­tends Art Center College of Design. The opinions expressed in this column are not necessarily those of The Rafu Shimpo.