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Supposedly, when one died they went to heaven or hell, or some sort of nothingness where all ceased to be. It was a concept that was easy enough to understand, really, as it wasn't all that complicated. But somehow that wasn't what happened this time around, not for me, and I wasn't sure how to feel about it. It being my reincarnation, and the fact that I remembered my past life (parts of it, anyways) – perhaps that part was what made me (and this situation) an anomaly. Perhaps reincarnation was the nothingness that followed death – I could believe that, even if I had never really considered the idea before.

The idea that I'd die unexpectedly, die young.

Then again not many people ever put much thought into such an idea – most never gave much consideration to death aside from hoping to live a nice, long and full life. Regardless, it had happened. When a truck meets a car something has to give, and more often than not it was the car (and the soft body inside). I was still bitter and upset over it all, and how could I not be given the situation?

But in the end, the point is: when one dies, they don't come back to life. Or at least if they do, they don't remember it and what was before.

Yet here I was. Tiny, confused, and not in control. Mostly confused, confusion only outweighed by pain. I missed her family, a family that I knew were grieving for me – I'd give anything to tell them that I was fine, not dead (anymore). Sadly, I admitted to herself that was probably never going to be possible. Seeing as I was pretty sure I was nowhere near where might have lived before, not that I could be one hundred percent positive on that point.

Quite honestly though…the most painful part was not knowing. I didn't remember my name, or my own mother's name – not a single name of a single member of my family or one of my much loved friends. It was unsettling and left an awful, awful feeling in my heart – I had never believed in reincarnation, I hadn't believed in any sort of afterlife. Now here I was, alive, but not – part of me detached to the world, due to the realization I'd be sitting and waiting to die again. Though I didn't want to – if I had a life, I should try living it, shouldn't I? To the fullest?

So this is my story. My new story – not the one of girl-dwelling-in-death.

The story about how someone in the beyond fucked up.

The story Nozomi Nasake.

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For the longest time after my birth, I wasn't really quite there. I was somewhat thankful that I wasn't conscious enough to deal with most of the nastier things – such as my uncontrollable bodily functions. There was one thing I was very aware of though, and that was the pure, unfiltered love that was showered down upon me. In fact, I was fairly positive that I had never felt so loved before.

My father, for one, loved to spoil me rotten and did everything in his power to get me to laugh. Perhaps it was an apology of sorts on his part, too, for being gone for days at a time every so often due to work (because what else could it be). His name, from what I had gathered, was Raise – I thought it was an odd name, really, but my situation itself was strange so I could let an odd name or two slide. In short, he was goofy and childish, and very loving. My mother on the other hand, Omoi, was the more serious parent. What I especially loved about her was the lack of baby talk – my mother's voice when talking to me was still sweet and kind, but she still used bigger words and often liked to just talk to me as if the almost toddler that I was could understand her. Omoi was definitely the more mature one of my parents, but she had the loveliest laugh and kindest smile I had ever seen.

The penchant for rambling that my mother had also endeared me to her even more in the beginning – after all, total emersion was a good way to learn a new language. I knew it'd be hell to learn Japanese, as I was positive it hadn't been my native language before. After all, when wasn't learning a new language and writing system from scratch not hard? My deep desire to learn this new language was why story time was my favorite thing in my new daily routine (and the cutesy baby voice some people tried to use on me was not).

Another thing I didn't like much was the odd warmth that started to develop inside me. It was perplexing and kind of annoying, but it admittedly wasn't hurting me. If I had to describe it, it was like the annoying tingle that happens when you want to sleep but have far too much energy – the one that starts in an arm or leg, then continues until your entire body feels like a livewire. I did appreciate the warmth, though, as it was kind of like having a mini heater inside myself. And it was pondering on what exactly that heat and tingle was that made me wonder even more about where and when I was, exactly. Because even with my muddled memories, I had no clue – I thought it was Japan due to the language, but the warm tingle threw me off.

Perhaps I was just too aware of my young body that I was feeling too much of my speedy growth? I didn't really have much of anything else to do or focus on beside what was going on within my immediate area, after all.

Something clicked after I spent some time pondering things though –

How did I know I was speaking Japanese? That I was in Japan? How exactly did I know this when I didn't remember any of the other countries from before? Not even my home country's name came to mind, and it was frustrating. I was remembering but forgetting, all at the same time and it was not okay, not normal. What also wasn't okay was how sensitive a child's body was to emotions – too much of one and the dam broke and tears flowed.

Just like now.

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Crawling was a milestone in my life I greatly appreciated – it came with a sense of freedom a virtually immobile infant didn't have. It wasn't quite enough freedom when looking at the big picture, though. Crawling was slow and cumbersome, walking would be faster and would give me more of an opportunity to find out where and when exactly I was. Sadly, due to my great desire for walking, the time it would take for my small body to strengthen to that point was probably going to be arduous.

"Oh, look at my little Nozomi!" My father scooped me up into the air and spun me around, a rather joyous squeal escaping me as he did, "Crawling around like you own the place, I bet you'll start walking before we know it."

"She's only seven months old, Raise," mother bluntly stated, a somewhat humorous glint in her cornflower blue eyes, "It'll be awhile."

"Why must you crush my dreams, my dearest Omoi!"

My father was dramatic, flamboyantly so, and it was quite endearing. While someone so overly enthusiastic might be considered annoying in large doses…he was part of what kept me sane. Memories of death were dark and sad, whereas he was bright and happy.

Suddenly I was eye to eye with my excitable father and the glint from his forehead drew my attention as he spoke, "On second thought, don't grow up too fast my dearest little wish!"

He crushed me to his chest as he fell back onto the couch, drudging up that light excitable pull in the pit of my stomach – but I couldn't find it in me to enjoy the silly little thrill. The headband he was wearing had caught my undivided attention. It was oh so familiar, what with its smooth, polished metal surface with a leaf-like symbol carved into the center. I had seen it before – in my past life (or perhaps in infanthood?).

Nothing was coming to me though, and after a minute or two I felt my lip tremble. It seemed my parents had noticed as well as their playful banter stopped as they gently tried to calm me before I bawled, which was something that I didn't want either. But, of course, the desperate need and want to not cry only made it all that much worse.

Quite frankly, I'm ashamed to say I started to cry, despite how hard I tried to resist.

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It turns out my father had been right back when he said I'd be walking soon, which had me just exited as he was in the end. I had tried my hand (or feet, rather) at walking multiple times, and had taken my first wobbly steps s few weeks after I turned nine months old (though whether this was normal, if I should have been doing it…I had no clue. I didn't remember my previous childhood, nor did I have a kid of my own before.). It was also then that I got my first look at myself.

My hair was a pearly off-white, as in it wasn't quite beige, but it wasn't white either – it was the shimmery color of a pearl, except without the actual shimmer. My eyes were also a soft cornflower blue much like my mother's own eyes and set on a childishly chubby face with skin that was a shade dark enough to not be considered pale.

Mother found me staring at myself in the mirror and squatted down next to me with a smile, the edges of her own cornflower blue eyes crinkling.

"That's an awfully pretty girl in the mirror, isn't it?" Her hand gently landed on my head, ruffling my short hair and I noticed my eyes weren't the only thing I had gotten from her – we shared the same skin tone as well. Our hair was the only difference in color, hers was a light brown.

"Well then," she scooped me up, "why don't you come with mama now and we can get us a nice snack."

I burbled jubilantly in response, having picked out the word 'snacks.' Though 'mama' had popped out too, 'papa' had been said a lot lately as well. They probably were hoping for me to speak early like I had walked a bit early, and believe me, I wanted that too. It was no fun having to play a game of bad charades while screaming in my head what I wanted them to know.

And I really wanted to ask where we lived.

Now there was the question of which word I wanted to be my first. Part of me wanted to do something other than the norm, but as parents they probably deserved a 'mama' or 'papa,' and who was I to deny them that? I probably wasn't really the ideal daughter, really, so I owed them a lot of loving me like they did. So with that in mind I started practicing at night when they were asleep before I myself fell asleep; who knows, maybe I could get both 'mama' and 'papa' in in one day.

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It was shortly before my first birthday when my father came home from one of his outings, of what I assumed was his job, and he looked exhausted. Nothing like the bubbly man I was used to. It was slightly upsetting for my young body, the sight and knowledge of him not being quite himself. So, with a certain surge of determination I got up and wobbled over. I gripped his pant leg and gave him a gapped smile (my teething days were surprisingly easy compared to what I thought they'd be) before speaking, "Papa!"

The exhaustion seemed to slip off of his face and suddenly I was in the air, just like he usually did. His joyous laugh brought mother into the room and he stuck out his tongue, "She said papa first. She loves me more!"

"Oh please," mother huffed as she rolled her eyes, "it's just because you repeated it to her like a mantra every second."

She was playing it off, but I could tell she was a bit miffed I had said 'papa' first. While it probably wasn't the best of ideas, what I was about to do felt right. And it would make my parents happy, and by extent I too would be a little happier. My chubby hands stretched out for her and I giggled, "Mama!"

To say she was surprised was an understatement. My father was too, I could tell with the way he tensed slightly after I said it.

"Well now," she smiled and pulled me to her, hugging me close, "Looks like we've got ourselves a little genius."

My father laughed, his grin stretched wider than I'd ever seen before, "She is our daughter after all; she was bound to be special." He seemed to contemplate things for a moment as mother and I watched him until he turned suddenly and wailed, "She's growing up too fast!"

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It was about a week later when mother suddenly had to leave, something about the hospital. I started to worry; was she okay? Did something happen? Then again this worry made be feel a bit silly, because she might just work there. It wasn't uncommon anywhere for a parent (or anyone else) to work at the hospital.

I tottered over to my father and tugged on his sleeve, "Papa, mama okay?"

He chuckled and patted my head, "Sure she is, my little wish. She just had to go in for some work."

"Works at hos-hus-hospitahl?" I was slightly ashamed to say I couldn't quite pronounce some words. It kind of bruised my inner-adult ego.

"She sure does! Your mama is the prettiest medic in the village," his smile and face had gone goofy and dreamy at the same time and I giggled.

Then it occurred to me – I could ask where we lived now!

"Papa," before I could get it out someone knocked at the door and I hobbled after him, curious to meet someone new.

By the time I got there all I caught was the end. "– needs to see you."

"Alright! Thanks, Hiroshi," he turned to me as said man left, his hands on his hips, "Well, little one, looks like we're going out."

Excitement bubbled up and I grinned, excited to finally go out somewhere new, "Yaaay!"

It was different around here than the places I could remember from my old life, but it was a somewhat nostalgic different. This outing also brought some possible answers to my questions of where I was. A large mountain was off to the side and it had faces on it. Familiar faces that sent my mind reeling.

Was this some dream? A joke?

Suddenly doors were pushed open and my father's voice brought my attention back to the world, "You wanted to see me, Lord Hokage?"

Hokage? Hokage?

Sure enough, right in front of me was someone who seemed to jolt my memory. Suddenly, I knew where I was. I knew who he was. Hiruzen Sarutobi, the third hokage of the Village Hidden in the Leaves, also known as Konoha.

There's something that perfectly described this moment.

It's like when you get a can of coke for someone and you shake it up so it fizzes into their face when they open it. But instead everything goes wrong and you drop it and it explodes everywhere.

It's sticky and messy.

It's shocking.

And really, it's not as sweet as you'd thought it would be.

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NOTE: The title, 'Growing Amaryllis' does have a meaning. In the language of flowers Amaryllis flowers stand for courage, so therefore, it's really 'Growing Courage.'

(SI) Nozomi 望み[wish, desire] Nasake 情け[warmth, compassion, empathy]

(Mother) Omoi 思い[feelings, thought, desire, mind, love, heart]

(Father) Raise 仏臭い[otherworldly]

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