This is Amiko, Do You Copy?
just try to be more open to others and their perspective—because sometimes, seeing the world through someone else’s eyes can shift something in you too.
This Is Amiko, Do You Copy? – A Strange, Honest Glimpse into Childhood (and Maybe Adulthood Too)
I picked up this book purely because of the title. This Is Amiko, Do You Copy? sounded playful, full of potential, even though I knew it centered on children. But very quickly I realized: this isn’t just a story about kids. It’s about how we all experience the world differently—how our ways of expressing love or connection can be misunderstood, even hurtful. And how being different, especially when you’re young, can feel like being from another planet.
Amiko, the main character, is full of strange energy and unfiltered thoughts. She reminded me not only of children, but also of adults who speak bluntly—not out of cruelty, but because it simply doesn’t occur to them to soften their words.
She’s thrilled at the idea of becoming a big sister and dreams of giving her sibling the “greatest gift ever.” But the baby dies, and no one tells her directly. That moment is heartbreaking—not just because of the tragedy, but because it’s filtered through a child’s confusion. Amiko’s grief comes out in ways no one around her seems to understand.
There’s also a boy she likes—who wants nothing to do with her. He avoids her, mocks her, even hits her. Yet she remains fixated. She eats rice with her hands “like people in India,” and to him she’s just “weird.” To her, it’s simply curiosity, another way of engaging with the world.
Meanwhile, the boy who sits beside her every day listens, helps, and notices. At the end, he says: “We’ve sat together all year. I know you well. But you’ve never really seen me. You’ve only ever looked at that other boy.” And it stings—because it’s true. She doesn’t even remember his name.
That, to me, is the heart of the story. We can sit side by side with someone—sharing time, space, even life—and still be in completely different dimensions. What feels like love to one person might feel like rejection to another.
This book is messy, awkward, sometimes raw—but that’s exactly what makes it feel real. It’s a reminder to pause, to see through someone else’s eyes, and to notice the people who quietly show up for us. Maybe if Amiko had looked closer at the boy next to her, she might have found a true friend. She might have bloomed.
And maybe that’s what the book is really asking us to do: be more open, be more attentive. Because sometimes, just shifting your perspective can change everything.
