Narrative Essay On Japanese Internment Camps

The rain trickled down my window as I stared at my books, thinking about

the stories my grandparents used to tell me about Japan. They had many good

times there, but when they came to the United States they were blessed with my

Mama. They started a small furniture store when they moved down here, which

Mama and Pa took over when my grandparents got too old to run it. I helped out

when they needed me too. It was a normal life for a Japanese-American. Little did

I know, my normal days in the United States would soon be a thing of the past.

In December of 1941, Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, scaring everybody with

the implications of it. They were wary of Japanese people, and they thought I was

one. I am an American. I don’t look like an American, but I’ve lived here

I was just as American as any white people there. Even my best friend

whom was American wouldn't talk to me during that time. He said “ I was a threat

and he didn't want to be apart of my terrorism. A couple months after the bombing,

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the Roosevelt Administration were told to remove all Japanese-Americans, no

matter the circumstance. This meant I had no choice but to be thrown into an

internment camp. I wasn't allowed to finish my education or do anything with my

personal belongings. I took what I could carry in my arms, nothing else.

I was ripped out of my life and put into a camp with all the other Japanese

and Japanese-Americans. Families held each other close, and many who weren’t

lucky enough to be placed together mourned the separation of their families. If you

were younger, you were more likely to stay with your family, but I wasn't one of

the lucky ones. I was all on my own, assigned a barracks to sleep in. It looked more

like a shack held together with dirt and wood than a functional building, but it was

now my home. There was a thick layer of dust covering my “home”, but no broom

to sweep it up with. I laid my clothes out in the shape of a bed for some cushion