Junko's Story

Episode 1: The First Step: Junko’s Leap into the Unknown

The sliding door quivered, barely ajar. I could hear the hesitant shuffle of shoes on the other side. Slowly, it began to open, inch by inch, pushed tentatively by one of the male students. Behind him, the young women hovered in the shadows, partially obscured, their gazes cast downward. Each entered with deliberate hesitation, their movements like an unspoken performance.

In this dance of cultural expectations, the men were judged on their confidence, and the women on their discretion. No one wanted to stand out.

I watched from the front of the grey-and-white classroom. The space was clinical, impersonal—a “learning studio” designed to reinforce the rigidity of the system it served. Square tables on stiff casters were arranged to suggest flexibility, but the room itself seemed built for passive learning. It reflected the structure these students had grown up with: uniformity, obedience, and conformity.

Their shoes squeaked faintly on the indestructible carpet tiles as they filed in. Bowed heads and murmured greetings floated toward me in halting English: “Good morning.” Their eyes flickered, wary of making direct contact with mine. This was my delivery room—not for newborns, but for souls.

They were only eighteen, fresh out of regimented high schools, and newly arrived at this American-style university. For most, it was their first taste of independence, but they carried the weight of a deeply ingrained system. Their backs were straight, their hands folded neatly in front of them, and their gazes rarely strayed beyond their phones. It was clear that every gesture and word was underpinned by one unspoken rule: Do not disrupt the harmony.

I smiled, breaking the heavy silence. “How are you?” I asked gently.

“I’m hine,” they responded in unison. The familiar mispronunciation of “fine” rose like a single, rehearsed voice. No one added the all-important “And you?” The silence stretched awkwardly, and I let it linger.

Then, I issued a simple request.

“Could you please help me? We need to move the tables into a rectangle.”

The words landed in the air like a foreign object. I traced the shape of a rectangle with my hands, and their eyes flickered with confusion. They whispered to one another in Japanese, translating my words, but no one moved. To act without explicit instructions was unthinkable.

Eventually, I moved a table myself, dragging it across the room to set the example. Still, none of the male students moved. They sat rigid, believing that such tasks belonged to women. Slowly, hesitantly, a few of the women began to mimic me. The effort was clumsy and disorganized. Chairs were left stranded, and the tables were misaligned.

“Why are we here?”

I asked abruptly, my voice cutting through their hesitation.

They froze. Their hands hovered over their desks, gazes darting toward me, then back down. Slowly, some of them began to meet my eyes.

“Please think,” I said, letting the weight of my words settle in the room.

“Why are you here, in this room, with me?”

The silence deepened, the question pressing on them like a weight they didn’t yet know how to carry. And then, it happened.

From the shadows of indecision, a small figure emerged. A young woman, barely noticeable at first, stepped forward. She moved without hesitation, her plain clothes a sharp contrast to the quiet power of her actions. She began dragging chairs into place with steady, deliberate movements. There was no fear in her, only quiet resolve.

The room shifted. For a moment, the others stared at her, stunned. Then, as though her courage had cracked open an invisible wall, they began to follow. First tentatively, then with more confidence. Slowly, the room came alive.

Her name, I would learn, was Junko.

Junko didn’t stand out because of her size or her voice. She stood out because of the spark she carried—the refusal to be bound by the invisible threads of conformity that held her peers back. In that single moment, she became more than just another student. She became a leader, a catalyst.

But this moment was just the beginning. Junko didn’t realize it, but she was standing at the edge of something far more significant than she could imagine. Like the blind man who touched an elephant's ear and mistook it for the whole creature, Junko had only begun to feel the edges of her potential. What lay ahead would challenge everything she thought she knew about herself, her culture, and her future.

And me? I would be her midwife. My role was not to deliver her success but to deliver her soul—to guide her as she stepped into her light, her truth, and her power. It wouldn’t be easy. The weight of a culture that demanded conformity and silence would press against her at every step. But I knew, with certainty, that Junko had what it took to emerge—not as the person she was expected to be, but as the person she was born to become.

Teaser and Book Mention at the End: "Junko’s story is just one of many featured in my upcoming book, The Millionaire Midwife: Delivering Souls; Creating Prosperity. What happens when her first bold act shakes up everything she’s known? Will she dare to take the next step into the unknown, or will the weight of cultural expectations pull her back? Stay tuned for Episode 2 on Wednesday, January 22nd—and follow along for more exclusive previews from the book."

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