by DELIA TOMINO NAKAYAMA

I recently finished reading Naomi Hirahara’s two other mystery novels (I mentioned her in “Random October-ing Thoughts,” Oct. 18): “Summer of the Big Bachi,” “Snakeskin Shamisen” and a novel called “1001 Cranes.”

Mas Arai, who is Hirahara’s Kibei equivalent of Agatha Christie’s Monsieur Poirot, is a Los Angeles gardener who gets tangled up in crime-solving.

I don’t normally read mysteries, but was drawn to hers because of their Japanese American context. Hirahara has devised a clever way to educate her readers about Japanese American culture by fleshing out the familiar formula of a “whoddunit” with credible JA characters and weaves internment history as well as the terrors of Hiroshima (in “Bachi”) into her plots....

She takes a departure in her most recent book, “Cranes,” where she narrates from a 12- year-old Yonsei girl’s perspective. The book also seems educational, written specifically for young adults.

A strange sensation came over me while reading her books. I guess you could call it some kind of homesickness ~ a nostalgic longing for something I never had: a thoroughly Japanese American upbringing.

The way Hirahara illustrates certain things about how Japanese Americans do things, how we deal with emotions and how we relate to Japan is uncanny. Even the color of paint on JA houses she describes ring true: “light mint green” and “the color of sun when its tired” matched the color of my obachan’s house in El Cerrito.

In “Gasa-Gasa Girl,” she describes a Japanese American church setting, and “the donuts cut up in quarters” and “green tea in styrofoam cups” — reminding me of a world I have left behind.

I taught preschool at Nihonmachi Little Friends, worked in the office at Hokubei Mainichi, volunteered at NJAHS, performed for a variety of JA events, etc., and did what I could to be an integral part of the JA community in the Bay Area for about a year or so...

But I never quite belonged. And it wasn’t just because I am hapa... It was because I didn’t have a strong connection to the community when I was growing up and trying to piece one together as an adult was tricky, especially since my expectations were high; I hoped I would be instantly accepted merely by having Japanese blood...

The fact that my close relatives didn’t get interned was another barrier to feeling a commonality with other California JAs. My Nisei grandparents were on the East Coast during WWII, so they avoided camp and were able to house other fleeing relatives coming from West Coast.

That gap in experience also made it hard to relate and feel a part of things...

Luckily, I found a sense of belonging here in New Orleans, and it helped that I didn’t have high expectations... I was exploring and soaking it all in... And I didn’t have to worry about fitting in with Japanese Americans, because there are so few here...!

But life is ironic, isn’t it? Now that I am far away from a Nikkei community I really miss it...

Because there Were many times when I felt a sense of belonging and harmony, like at a church Crab and Spaghetti Feed or going on the Tule Lake Pilgrimage the first time...

And unforgettable memories like an after hours party at Hokubei Mainichi, where Japanese songs were drunkenly sung by normally serious and hard-working staff members, finally letting their hair down (!) and being invited to lunch by Mr. Norimoto, the president at the time...

It’s a bittersweet homesickness, for if I hadn’t left the Bay Area, I might not fully appreciate my experiences working and socializing in the Nikkei community. Here in the French Quarter, I no longer have to feel bad about not speaking Japanese or being Japanese enough, but I miss seeing Japanese faces around town and just being near Japantown...

Even if I wouldn’t visit that often, just knowing I could would be a comfort...

Reading Naomi Hirahara’s books inspired all of this and confirmed my own “JA-ness”, as I relate to what she says so well. Who would have thought they would make me feel validated and homesick all at the same time?