A word from Okinawa, through the mouth of a small person
The Yui Rail, Shuri stop
What you must know about me is this. I am a borrower, and also a creator. I am a place of gods and of people who belong to at least two cultures. American soldiers pack the sand of my beaches with their feet. My markets smell like dried fish, and because of this, cats prowl in my alleyways. I have been the site of atrocities, tiny implosions like bombs buried in the earth. My monorail tinkles out music, my tracks lead into the sky. My highways run along the ocean, my wave-breakers protruding like spikes from a shell. My shrines hold traces of many gods, and of the government that tries to force mainland ways upon my people. My people, who laugh and quietly keep their old ways, buried within the new like a beating heart.
Near Shuri Castle 
Zakimi Castle
A passing shrine
Outside the zoo
Seifa Utaki, the religious grounds
Haebaru
Near Kudaka Island
Kudaka Island
The Shores of the World 