A new school offers a chance to define yourself, your way

Kutchan, Hokkaido, JAPAN – In the span of six weeks, I had two first days of school. 

It was exactly what I wanted from my summer: a new beginning. Given the gift of a new hometown, I found countless chances to examine how I define myself in a place where no one knows who I am.

After enough repetitions, I mastered my self-introduction: “Nice to meet you. My name is Annamika. I am from Oregon in the United States. I am 17. Right now, I am studying Japanese. I like music and animals.” 

This introduction became my way of navigating unfamiliar spaces—classrooms, principal’s offices, and the teacher’s lounge at both of my new schools in Kutchan, Hokkaido. Each time I spoke those words, I was answering the question, “Who are you?”

The first time I set foot in Kutchan High School, it was a Friday afternoon. The air was cool and stagnant as I received my school uniform and schedule from my new homeroom teacher. I learned I would be joining classroom 3-B. 

The second time, on my “real” first day, the atmosphere had changed. The steady hum of fans circulated the warm summer air, mingling with the muffled chatter of students. This time, I was asked to introduce myself on the lunch broadcast – a larger stage to define who I was.

Lunchtimes were spent with quickly-made friends, our conversations a blend of English, Japanese, and laughter.

I had been thinking about how to define myself long before I arrived in Kutchan. I had to consider which pictures to bring along, which stories to keep at the forefront of my mind, and what fun facts would best represent me in Japan. It was an exercise in self-definition that I hadn’t fully realized I was engaging in. 

But, I think it’s something that we all do often.

When someone asks, “What’s your favorite color?” do you have an immediate answer, or do you, like me, think of something on the spot and let it become part of your identity?

Each time I was asked a question, no matter how seemingly surface-level, I would pause.

“What are your hobbies?” 

“What kinds of music do you like?”

“What do you want to do in the future?”

Should I give an answer from the version of myself in the U.S.? Should I use the opportunity to redefine myself to think of what my aspirational self would say? 

My first day at Kutchan High School was a study in contrasts. I had arrived early, with the sun casting long shadows on the school grounds. The building itself was a mixture of clean lines and worn corners.

I was repeatedly asked, “Who are you?” Faces were patient but expectant, waiting for my response.

Over time, I met people who had missed my original self-introduction, giving me the opportunity to introduce myself anew. I always said what came to mind first, what seemed like the most “me,” but I continued to wonder how much of this definition was true and how much I was just adopting and learning from along the way. 

In 3-B and in my new school, I was constantly redefining who I was in the eyes of my classmates.

In my English classes, I was invariably asked to give a longer self-introduction presentation. The slideshow I created to introduce myself ended up being 92 slides long. 

Most of the slides were just images or had a single word for emphasis, but scrolling through the cascade of slides before presenting was intimidating. At the same time, only 92 slides to explain myself, my hometowns, my interests, and my personal history seemed remarkably short. 

I had never been asked to do that kind of thing before – stand up in front of a classroom or on a stage and speak about myself in a way that tied the disparate threads of my identity together in a logical way.

Most of the time, my life seems the opposite of logical. Imposing order on it was a challenge.

But I learned, and I met the version of myself unfolding in the slides of my presentation. 

With each new self introduction, I explained why I wanted to be in Kutchan, my two hometowns in Oregon and Hawaii, and the things about me that I think are most interesting. On one slide, I flashed an image of a fish over the screen. “What is this fish’s name?” I asked. 

The answer: humuhumunukunukuāpuaʻa.

It was the first fish name I was taught in elementary school in Hawaii, I explained. I wanted to give my class the same experience of being quizzed and then thinking. “That can’t possibly be real.”

As you return to school this fall, remember that you are the one who gets to define who you are.

Before leaving for my exchange, I was constantly reminded that I wasn’t just representing myself; I was representing Oregon and the United States to Japan. This added weight to my self-definitions and made the relationships I built during my time in Kutchan feel unlike any I had experienced before. Lunchtimes were spent with quickly-made friends, our conversations a blend of English, Japanese, and laughter.

The thing about having two first days – two promises of new possibilities – is that there are two accompanying goodbyes.

I only spent about two weeks at Kutchan Agricultural High School, sandwiched between my time at the “regular” Kutchan High School.

At both schools, there are thousands of moments – decorating classrooms for school festivals, choreographing dances, brushing cows, scribbling notes, eating ice cream, learning calligraphy, baking cookies, writing thank you notes, taking the long route home while talking with friends – that I have not yet transferred to paper.

Each influenced the definition of myself that I took back to the United States, a definition newly expanded and filled with the excitement that comes from knowing I now have second homes in a town I didn’t even know existed just a few months ago. 

But I made all of those memories as the version of myself that I defined over the course of my first few days and weeks at my new schools.

On my final night in Kutchan, after summer break had begun for Hokkaido schools, my friends and I made a promise to send each other a picture every day. It has been a way to stay connected across the miles, to bridge the gap between our lives as they continue on separate paths.

And so far, we’ve kept that promise. I’ve sent them pictures of giant watermelons stacked high in grocery stores, snapshots of my pets and the endless highways stretching across the U.S., being reminded of their vastness only after returning from the tapered roads of Kutchan.

In return, I’ve received updates from their lives – August festivals, open campuses as they prepare for university, backpacks shielded by umbrellas from the first heavy rain after I left. 

Familiar faces in those photos anchor me back to Kutchan.

Now, I know who I am. I am a combination of those experiences, of the people who helped shape them, and of the choices I made to define myself. 

As you return to school this fall, remember that you are the one who gets to define who you are. Once you have that definition, hold onto the people who remind you of that version of yourself.

From my two beginnings and two goodbyes, I learned that while you will constantly be asked to explain who you are, you have control over how you define yourself.

You are a collection of choices, experiences, and relationships that you define and redefine with each new beginning. 

So, when someone asks, “Who are you?” – know that the answer is yours to create.

Annamika Konkola is a Senior Reporter with Youth Journalism International.