“After this, Job opened his mouth and cursed the day of his birth.”
Job 3:1
November 6th 1994, in a hospital, down town Tokyo, an Italian woman gave birth to a boy while the Japanese father stood next to her during labor. The mother also gave name to the boy calling him Luca Yajima Di Fillippi and poured all the love she had on this one little vulnerable baby. As the boy grew up, the environment played a key role in his life such as constant drug bust in the neighborhood, gang banging, murder, pornography, prostitution and slowly, but surely steadily the boy’s innocence faded away; no matter how hard my parents attempted to refrain me from the wickedness.
So therefor this is me, Luca “Luke” Yajima, a teenager with prudence and virtue forever intermingled by reputation until death come to me where social positions and character does not matter no more in the afterlife. Since I was child I never believed in the excision of justice, I didn’t need to go on to Discovery Channel to acknowledge that people are being annihilated without purpose throughout the entire globe. The picture was set so vivid in my life where I see my mother crying in her sleep for somewhat an anonymous reason at night and facing relentless racism and segregation in school. Sure, I could’ve grabbed my cocky cape and suites labeled with a big letter “S” in the center from my metal chambered closet in addition with a shady super hero mask, but it turned out that wasn’t the case. It was like one of those soap opera TV program where the cops tentatively investigated a crime scene with their suites stained with tobacco odors and crooning to themselves “ what is going on?”