I moved myself across the globe to live in Tokyo for two months this summer. A shock to no one. A lifelong goal. A chance to experience a culture unknown to me. Yes, I am a silly caucasian girl, and I wanted to play with samurai swords. When I applied to study abroad in Japan, I surprised very few people. Maybe it was the fact that I visited Japan three times prior or that I learned to make sushi at age five, but I never knew college without studying abroad in Asia, even if I hadn’t actually gone yet.
My parents were excited as they drove me to the airport. But I remember sitting in the back of the car, eyes focused on anything that would keep me distracted from thinking about what I was getting ready to do. What if I couldn’t figure out the subway? What if I didn’t meet anyone? What if the internship I was hired for turned out to be terrible?Â
I barely remember them hugging me goodbye. But the memory of crying for hours during my flight is rather vivid.Â
I wasn’t ready for all this change, even if it was only for 60 days. Uncertainty and doubt had always been in the back of my mind, but now they were real, raw feelings I couldn’t stop myself from experiencing. For almost my entire flight, I questioned my decision, yet I knew I had to do it. But why?
Maybe it was because of my apartment. Tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, surrounded by other cramped housing situations, close enough to a grocery store where I discovered my new favorite dish: cucumber salad with sesame dressing.
Maybe it was because of my commute to work. I felt like a sardine in a can every morning as I was shoved hastily into a train car with too many other people. When I got off, sweating profusely, I would find the nearest vending machine and grab a Pocari Sweat.
Maybe it was because of my visits to Tsukiji Market. Local vendors gathered every day to sell traditional foods, and my favorite was a cheap lean tuna nigiri that tasted as close to perfection as anything. I had the most delicious matcha, made friends with an old woman selling onigiri, and gawked at the other American tourists, with as much of a superiority complex as the locals do.Â
Maybe it was because of my trip to Hiroshima. I felt so incredibly guilty to be a U.S. citizen while I walked through the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum. Tears streamed down my face as I read about the destruction my country had caused to people who had welcomed me into theirs with open arms. The physical evidence of war and hatred, displayed in clothing, in skin grafts, in letters to loved ones, overwhelmed me with appreciation, sadness, and a deep desire to never forget.Â
Maybe it was because of how excited my dad and sister were to come see me. My dad, who is now officially obsessed with Japan (he’s learning to speak the language), was overjoyed when I told him I got accepted to study abroad in Tokyo. I felt right at home when they arrived in my new one. Spending late nights in izakayas, exploring the streets of Shibuya, and having a lemon sour in American-themed bars was one of the highlights of my trip because I got to experience Tokyo with two of my best friends.Â
Maybe it was because I knew I met amazing people. It was one of the most rewarding experiences to live in a country with other students who shared such a deep appreciation for the culture, community, and, of course, food. We traveled to Osaka and Kyoto, exploring the nightlife and making memories along the way. My wish to create lasting friendships during my time abroad manifested perfectly.Â
I sat back in the airport lounge, gazing over Tokyo Bay. My eyes were filled with tears, and this time, they didn’t stream down my face because of self-doubt, but from the genuine sadness I felt leaving Japan. The uncertainty I experienced at the beginning of my trip was replaced by one question: when will I be able to return?Â
In my eyes, there is truly nothing like Tokyo, and I search for it in every place I go.