Nayeli was born to her single mother in the Caribbean. She lived in an incredibly shady urban area and was shaken into a wild home of abusive behaviour, language and toxic environment. It was a complete destruction to what little confidence she had. Constantly living on edge, Nayeli was always incredibly nervous around her mother.

Her mother was involved in criminal activity, she was drug vendor and user, growing an incredibly large amount of marijuana in her home. She also housed several thousands of dollars worth of cocaine, and Nayeli wasn’t allowed in the room that she grew the drugs/kept the cocaine in.

Nayeli lived in an unfair household, where she was smacked and beaten if she misbehaved or accidentally broke things. Nayeli was forced to lie to anyone who asked about her bruises and cuts, saying that she was in a fight or hurt herself. However, one day, her mother got her help to carry several sachets of white powder to a man in an alleyway. She was forced to hold onto the drugs and her mother took the money.

When Nayeli was getting the drugs out from her shirt, one of the packets split, and spilled all over her. Her mother was furious, and set about beating her child to the point of near unconsciousness or even death as the buyer watched. Then suddenly, people were there, grabbing her mother, taking her, she didn’t know what was going on, she didn’t want to remember.

When she woke up, she had a soft nightdress on, and she was lying in a bright room. She had no idea what was going on, and then a few people came in and began to ask her questions about her mother, saying she wouldn’t get in trouble for this, but she had to tell the entire truth.

Nayeli was incredibly nervous, but hesitantly told the people about her mother and how badly she was treated. After a while of asking questions, they stood up and wished her a get well soon, before leaving. A few days later, a nurse came in and tried to help her out of bed to go to a play area, but Nayeli panicked when the woman came near her, and struggled to avoid the woman touching her. She didn’t want to be touched in any way, shape, or form. Any medicine that involved doctors touching her had Nayeli screaming and screaming, she didn’t want them to touch her. They were horrible, everyone was horrible, they weren’t supposed to touch her.

It was discovered that Nayeli had PSTD-induced haphephobia, and would only allow those she trusted to touch her (for only short amounts of time, hugs made her feel trapped, kisses felt threatening, hand holding seemed too permanent and gave off an air the hand holder was going to break her hand, etc. etc.), which was nobody but the person who came in to ask her about her mother, because he was helping her, and getting her away from that woman.

When she was released from the hospital, Nayeli was pushed into a foster home that was fairly quiet at first, but grew as the days went by. It was a place for children who weren’t able to be fostered just yet. However, it only lifted Nayeli’s fears due to the loud noise and rough children. She was taken out of the wretched by a new mother. This mother was called Nana Kikuchi. She had one other foster daughter and a biological daughter who were both her age. They were called Namid and Nidawi.

Nayeli was taken in by Nana who lived in a fairly quiet area of the Caribbean. She was fairly hesitant to spend time with any of her new family, and it was understandable. Nana gave her time to open up to the family, and let her settle herself. Namid and Nidawi were quiet when she asked and kind to her. After a few months, Nayeli felt safe amongst her new family.

School was an entirely new experience, to the point where Nayeli avoided attending as much as she could. She was terrified of her classmates laughing at her, at her frail form, at her clumsiness, at everything wrong with her. She was scared witless that people would touch her and yell at her and it was.. hopeless. She dared to try school for one day, so long as Nana came with her.

The day went fairly well, but Nayeli didn’t feel one hundred percent safe. She wanted to believe that this was a good thing, and went as far as to try and force herself to believe this. She did so in private, carefully constructed a facial mask that kept her ‘sisters’ and Nana at bay.

At school, Nayeli led a path of constant name calling, names much worse than childish insults about stupidity. They were names that cut Nayeli deep, slurs that stuck to her like slime, and what made Nayeli feel even worse was the fact that she didn’t even know what they meant, and she had nobody to ask without drawing attention to herself. Slurs about people with intellectual disabilities attacked Nayeli every day, and she tried relentlessly to hide away from them. After a few rounds with the teacher discussing her incoherent, messy essays, Nana took Nayeli to a doctor, who gave her a series of tests and diagnosed the girl with dysgraphia, a deficiency in the ability to write, primarily in terms of handwriting, but also in terms of coherence.

They started to attend dance classes after school. Nayeli was a little unsure about it, but after finding that the beat helped her forget about troubling things. After graduating from the class, she started a calm routine. Selecting a reggae dancing class, she proved to have full ability to dance to reggae, and was quite good at it, allowing herself to be immersed in the beat.

She was one of the top dancers who performed on the streets, videoed by tourists who visited the rather popular market. Her dancing was a lot more urban and usually didn’t appear in festivals. She began making tutorials on Youtube, and showing people the best ways to reggae dance.

Nana was growing old however, and decided that when she retired, she would move back to Japan. This meant that she was taking her daughters with her, and she decided to give them all lessons in Japanese. It took about four years for them to grasp the language and begin talking more fluidly in Japanese, but they still preferred English. They did have knowledge on how to speak Japanese and understand it though. Namid wasn’t too good at writing any characters, but could write fairly simple sentences in the english alphabet.