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I have lived in America for so long and have absorbed so much of the American ideas and culture, that when I went back to Japan in 1931, to see my dying father, I felt strange and unnatural. It was difficult for me to adjust myself to their way of living. I no longer belonged. When I again touched the shore of America and greeted my accustomed friends, I was glad to get back, feeling indeed convinced that this, my adopted home, was my home.

I think most of the Japanese people living in New York feel the same way. Whether we happened to be born in Japan or in America, our associations and environment here have molded and shaped our ideas so that we appreciate the democratic way of living and can only abhor and condemn the Japanese militarists in their bloody plunge for the imperialistic power.

I remember Japan as a beautiful country of pines and flowers, with a background of volcanic mountain shapes. A country with a rich heritage of custom, tradition, and culture.