I’ve spent my life both running from and chasing after my Japanese heritage. When Waseda appeared as one of the options for a year abroad, I was surprised to feel drawn to it. My Dad mentioned my jiji used to teach there. I’d known the story since I was younger - my jiji went abroad to America for a dissertation he would never complete. Shame would stop him from ever returning. Without much thought, I sign up for the program with optimistic delusions of bringing my jiji home to Japan full circle. I think I will feel a sense of belonging when I arrive. I believe things will just fall into place.
They do not. I spend the first half of Japan feeling like an imposter. My university classes are nothing like I expect. Class selection is by lottery, not first-come first-serve. Cold-call is used everyday. I feel so anxious my heart might burst. I realize how important language is, when I stare at a blank face and can’t articulate what I want. I struggle with simple tasks. I burst into tears at Yamato Transport trying to ship American snacks to Yuta, my friend in Kyoto. Funny enough, most people assume I am Korean. It’s a strange sort of feeling. When I mention I am Japanese American, there’s always the hostile question regarding language: Why did you come to Japan then? At this point, I hardly know.
But I stay. And my language improves. I find a text from my sister sent in December: “nothing to go but up [pray emoji] like genuinely nowhere to go but up u are at ROCK bottom [laugh cry emoji]”. And I do. It’s hard to pinpoint when, but every part of me changes. My face changes. I dye my hair blonde. My MBTI switches type from introvert to extrovert. Somewhere along the road, I’ve come to enjoy being called on in class. I let myself take up space. Rather than being a chore, I see class as a time to connect with people I would’ve never talked to organically. I feel like glowing, with how happy I am.
If I only spent half a year abroad, I would’ve left with a sour taste of Japan. I would’ve never known: Yesterday’s dinner with Diana and Kanta. We eat pizza over the canal and talk as trains pass through Tokyo. Conversations slowly change to language exchange. One word leads to learning another. I pull out my Onomatopoeia vocabulary list crumpled in my backpack. Homework becomes the swaying of the trees, the ripple of koi infused water, the way photos of tonkotsu and shio broth are “こってり” and “あっさり” . I take turns practicing the pitch inflection of words that sound the same, but aren’t. We listen to how phrases sound from a native speaker and replicate it ourselves.
If I left early, I would’ve never known Waseda Paddy. I’m overjoyed to discover that whereas my previous circle was more exclusive, this circle has so many local students who do want to make friends. In May, we go on a picnic. I learn Japan’s national flower is both sakura and chrysanthemum. Sato is the most common family name. Reina mentions the bubbles she brought for us to play with are a part of Japanese childhood nostalgia. At circle meetings, there are fun cultural differences that make me smile instead of cry. Questions of: “would you rather tell someone they smell bad, or let them go their whole life smelling terrible?” I am more American than I think. My exchange and Japanese friends laugh when there’s a clear divide on opinion. Half say they would rather tell someone they smell. The other half would rather disappear.
Spending a year abroad gave me the chance to see growth. I’ve learned friendship is not something that just seamlessly happens, it’s a choice. I’m American here, but when I return home, I will likely feel Japanese. I think it is okay to feel both. I will continue learning Japanese. And whereas I originally came to Japan for my jiji, I’m happy to realize that it’s the best decision I could’ve ever made for myself, my happiness, and my confidence.