I enter a room full of young Okinawans, who have come to Australia to teach Eisā, a traditional form of music and dance. Too proud to actually learn myself, I only duck in with my mother to say hello. I see the Okinawans, my age or slightly older, lower their gaze as I walk in. The source of their embarrassment registers in my unconscious, but I don’t allow myself to acknowledge it at the time. It’s my ridiculously ostentatious Kariyushi shirt.