Still, Waters Run Deep. A personal story about growing up in coastal Japan and moving to New York City, this memory narrative reflects on migration, realization, and transformation.
Hi, my name is Kiba. I grew up in Toba, a small fishing town on the Kii Peninsula in Japan, facing the Pacific Ocean. Each time I return and step onto the platform at Toba Station near the port, the sea breeze drifts through the humid air, clinging to my hair. It’s a smell like an old, familiar song—one I never noticed until I left my hometown.
I migrated from Toba to New York City in 1989.
I often skipped ESL class to ride the F train to its last stop: Coney Island.
I loved Coney Island in winter—the cold biting at my cheeks, gray skies hanging low, sunlight beaming through wind-torn clouds, and sea spray splashing from restless tides. The beach was almost empty, with herring gulls wandering the shore.
I’d sit on a bench along the boardwalk, hands warming around a cup of black coffee, dipping fried clams in tartar sauce from Nathan’s.
It’s funny, I am still wearing a float. I grew up surrounded by water but never learned to swim. After school, my parents would drive me to the nearest beach, just so I could dip my arms and legs into the sea, feel the gentle pull of the waves, the saltwater on my atopic skin. It never healed. Because it was a superstition they believed. But waters were a quiet refuge, a place where I could touch the vastness beyond myself.
Still, they have carried me to Oakland.
Still, they will always carry me.
Hiromi Kiba • THEY/THEM • JAPAN/NYC
Hiromi Kiba is a New York City–based interdisciplinary artist and DJ, born in Ise, Japan. Their work blends poetry, performance, video, sound, and installation to explore memory, gender, community, and cultural identity through personal narratives. Kiba recently shared their first trilingual rap performance video at the Loisaida Center.
