A Song in My Heart
Ravi Jain (Syosset High School)
During my early adolescent years, reading, music, and theatre provided a welcome escape from the
reality of my undeveloped social skills, self-perceived unsightliness, and unsuccessful attempts to fit in
with my classmates. Fortunately, works of fiction in various media afforded me the opportunity to
empathize with the emotions and experiences of the characters I encountered. I read voraciously and
broadened my appreciation for music and theatre arts.

Obeying the Broadway billboards that decreed, “All must visit the land of Oz,” I saw Wicked: The
Untold Story of the Witches of Oz. Wicked sings the story of a college student struggling to fit into an
intolerant world where appearance matters more than intelligence or courage. Its lyrics became a source of
inspiration for me. While I did not possess Elphaba’s animal activism, magical powers, or green skin, I
understood her sadness and could hum her loneliness. Wicked encouraged me to look past my puberty-
induced handicaps and focus on traits of which I could be proud.

Fast forward to the summer of 2012.

I was awarded a scholarship from the Center for Global Partnership to be an exchange student in
Nagoya, Japan for six weeks. Without much embellishment, my parents dropped me off at JFK Airport with
cash, my host family’s address and phone number, and instructions to “learn something.” Fourteen hours
later, I landed in Tokyo; excited, exhausted, and unable to speak the language, I was helpless. I was reliving
my adolescence—I soon realized I was more like Elphaba than ever before. (I even had a different skin
color.) I felt I was the Wicked Witch of the Western Hemisphere who came to Japan to propagate fast food
and bad manners.

“Watashi no namae wa Ravi desu,” I said, hesitantly introducing my name to my Japanese host
mother after meeting her for the first time. She giggled at my poor pronunciation and then embraced me as
a son for a month and a half.

Over the next few weeks, thanks to my host family, electronic dictionaries, and intermittent language
study, I had “learned something.” I later became comfortable enough to even sing karaoke for the first time,
to the horror of professionals everywhere. As I grew intimate with my new friends and family, I began to
admire the Japanese even more for their unparalleled politeness. At school, I learned to play table tennis
from the true pros – Japanese high school boys. At home, I learned to cook from my host mother, and spent
the last night of my stay preparing what my host family claimed was an extraordinarily sumptuous feast
(even if they hadn’t liked it.) And of course, everywhere I went, I kept improving my Japanese.

Though I predictably acquired a profound understanding of Japanese culture, I somehow learned as
much about myself, especially after my host brother introduced me to his cousin during a weekend stay in
Kyoto. Kanako had vacationed extensively during college, but felt her travels were incomplete without a
visit to the Big Apple. We discussed my favorite weekend activities in the city, and when I mentioned
theatre, she confided she had dreamed of walking down Broadway for as long as she could remember.

Kanako had seen the Japanese version of Wicked and fallen in love with the tenderness of its raw
passion. However, she knew that for an authentic experience she would have to watch it in English.

Blushing, I inadvertently told her I had memorized the songs, and she delightedly suggested we sing them
together. The idea was laughable. I spoke little to no Japanese, and, while Kanako’s English was decent, she
did not know the English lyrics. But when she started humming the tune, I hesitantly joined in with the
English words, and she followed in Japanese. It worked. We had produced a brilliant duet, yet we hadn’t
even sung in the same tongue. Our mutual passion for Wicked transcended all barriers – language, gender,
race. I found myself in Japan. Somehow though, I was more proud of having found a friend.

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