The story of how I found myself in a new and whimsical world.
All good superheroes have an origin story.
But as a child, my super heroes looked less like Wonder Women and more like the Sailor Moon scouts and Final Fantasy characters. I grew up loving Japanese anime and video games before I even realized they were Japanese.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Don’t tell me you’re just another one of those weeaboos who loved anime so much she ran off to Japan?” (Does Gen Z still use the term weeaboo or am I sounding too millennial?)
Not that it wouldn’t be a completely valid reason to want to live in Japan (let’s not hobby shame) but the answer is no. I based my decision to move to Japan off of a much, much more important reason than that…
…a movie.
I know how this sounds.
But it took one movie to convince me that Japan would be my future home. Any guesses as to which movie?
3…2…1…
“Memoirs of a Geisha.”
This movie changed my life. At twelve years old, seeing this for the first time, my eyes lit up in wonder. It was a world I had never seen before, but it looked so beautiful. The landscapes, the music, the dances, the colorful clothes, and the poetic story-telling transported me.
“You cannot say to the sun, ‘More sun,’ or to the rain, ‘Less rain.’ To a man, geisha can only be half a wife. We are the wives of nightfall. And yet, to learn of kindness after so much unkindness, to understand that a little girl with more courage than she knew, would find her prayers were answered, can that not be called happiness? After all these are not the memoirs of an empress, nor of a queen. These are memoirs of another kind.”
Memoirs of a Geisha (2005)
Do you see the place young Chiyo is running through on the bottom of the movie poster? That’s not a movie set. It’s a real shrine called Fushimi Inari. After the movie, I swore some way, somehow, I’d go there and walk that same path. More on that to come.
I later came to find out in college while writing my thesis that this movie, based on the book “Memoir’s of a Geisha” by Arthur Golden, was actually quite controversial, as the idea for the book was taken from a real Geisha who asked Golden not to embellish the story or name her. Against her wishes, he did both of those things, and she ended up suing him and writing her own book in response titled: “Geisha, A Life” by Mineko Iwasaki. An excellent read, but purely focusing on the movie outside of it’s tangled origins, it has some of the most incredible cinematography I’ve ever seen. A scene that stands out is probably the dance in the snow Sayuri performs.
But enough gushing. You’re still here for an origin story, and these are just the humble beginnings. Fast forward to college, and I, like most lost souls, had no idea what to study. I settled on Writing and International Business, thinking I might fancy myself a coffee shop owner in Japan someday or a story-teller of sorts. (Stay tuned- my career prospects are still unknown 10 years later.) Why not major in Japanese you ask? One word: Kanji. Enough said.
Before selling my soul to the corporate world upon graduation in 2016, I decided I needed to see that dream of living in Japan realized. But how was a broke college student in piles of debt going to afford that?
I stumbled upon the website Workaway. (Hey Workaway, sponsor me? 👀)
I worked out a deal with a host in Nara to stay there for the whole 3 months, which is the maximum length of time you can stay under a visitor visa. I had planned to begin my trip in Tokyo for the first week before heading to Nara. Nara was ideal because I had a friend living there, and I knew it was filled to the brim with temples, which I was eager to see.
And in March of 2017, I set off!
…Only to get stuck at the an airport in Canada for 5 hours. But fate was smiling on me that day.
For you see, this was the year of Pokémon Go: the sensation that saw adults taking to the streets, corn fields, Target parking lots and no-trespassing areas all in the name of ‘catching them all.’ It was a game that turned complete strangers into friends, and for a moment in time, we had world peace.
If you can’t wrap your head around how Pokémon took over the world back in 2016, you’re probably not a millennial. To illustrate this, here on the left is an image of a sign I made for my local coffee shop. “It’s probably the best drawing I’ve ever done.” – to quote Napoleon Dynamite. This was prime marketing, I swear.
So I was seated next to some fellow Pokémon trainers, and as we all bonded over our shared childhood, we came to find that our end destination was the same. We were all going to be in Tokyo for a week. I can honestly say that even with all the preparation and reading up I did on Japan beforehand, I would not have had the same experience without these individuals. We moved around as a unit, helped each other get internet set up, navigated the train systems, shared knowledge about must-see locations, and saw each other back home to our respective hotels at the end of each night. I highly recommend traveling with another person on your first go, because combining brain power really does solve problems quicker, and when you’re lost, it’s better to have someone to laugh with.
I can’t find the original airport photo, so instead you can enjoy this photo of us shivering while eating Pablo Mini Cheese Tarts, which is the only normal thing to do when you’re being pelted by freezing rain. I should mention one of us is not pictured since they’re taking the photo!
By the way, Pablo Cheese Tarts, I’m right here when you want to sponsor me. No pressure, though. 👀
Okay. I’m getting off topic. Where was I? Oh yeah.
Nara.
Nara
After giant Gundam robots, cat cafes, and an impromptu trip to see Mt. Fuji, which saw us getting lost in Hakone at night and stumbling into an onsen (hot spring) to make the most of our failed 3 hour trek, I set off for Nara, which was to be my home for the rest of my stay.
Or so I thought.
And I wish I could tell you I had a beautiful time. Some of it certainly was. But this is reality, and sometimes, miscommunication happens. As I’ve grown older, and reflected on this experience, I learned that neither of us were really at fault for how things played out. But it taught me a lot about how important setting boundaries are. So lets get into it.
I arrived in Nara tired from an overnight bus ride, which at the sacrifice of a good night’s sleep, you’ll save a lot of money taking. I met the Obaa-san (Grandma) who I was set to stay with and things looked bright. There was another girl staying with her that was ending her trip, so our time overlapped. We laughed and all made curry rice together while watching Takarazuka, Obaa-san’s favorite show.
The girl took me to some temples and festivals she had discovered during her time there. That was all in the first week. The problem happened when I asked to meet my friend on the weekend. He was going to pick me up and take me to Kyoto. The Obaa-san let me go, and I spent an amazing weekend seeing the Golden Temple in Kyoto. But when I returned… she was not happy.
She confronted me in Japanese, visibly frustrated, voice heightened. I didn’t understand Japanese back then or why she was upset, only that I had done something wrong. Once she calmed down, she explained her anger was out of worry, and that she was concerned about my health (I had a food allergy scare the 2nd day I arrived and got medicine for it.) and didn’t think I should be traveling anymore. I, still young to the world and non-confrontative, was horrified that I had made her upset. When we had discussed me coming to stay with her months prior, we had arranged an agreement that I would stay with her during the week and help her grocery shop, do light cleaning and cooking, and that I could do as I pleased during the weekend.
Or so I thought.
A light left my eyes as I realized I would have to stay in one place for my entire three months to avoid upsetting her. I started to feel extremely stuck and claustrophobic. But as the next day came and went, I felt a pit in my gut telling me I needed to leave. This was my only chance to travel in Japan before getting a job and resigning myself to a life of full time work. So I did the only thing I could think of at the time.
I lied.
I told her I had a family emergency and promptly left the next day. I’m not proud of this. I wish I had tried other ways to resolve it. But I was scared, and felt alone. In the end, I feel that it was the right call to make. Had I stayed, I wouldn’t have met some of the most beautiful people nor experienced some of the most life-changing moments that were to come.
So with no where to sleep, the future completely unknown, and still two and a half months to go before my flight back, I hopped on a train to the nearest big city.
Osaka.
Osaka
I fought hard against the feeling of uncertainty as I boarded a train to Osaka. I didn’t have a plan. I wasn’t sure if I should end my trip early, or whether I could survive on the minimal money I had brought now that I would be paying for accommodations. Nevertheless, I decided I at least needed a bed for the night so as I sat on the train, I searched for the cheapest and least sketchy Airbnb I could find. I found a place that looked decent for $18 a night–a steal even in 2017. I later learned that the reason it was so cheap was because it was in Nishinari-ku, the designated city of the homeless. But I had been to big cities in the US, and figured it couldn’t be that bad. And I was right. What I found in that city was kindness. Everyone around me called it dangerous, but those were not the people who would give me the scarf off their shoulder because I looked cold, knowing I could never return it to them. But that is a story for another time.
I decided that I’d spend a week using that as a base to explore Osaka. Whether I decided to end my trip early or not, I thought I should at least take this time to see what the city had to offer. The host offered to meet me at the station, as the Airbnb was located in an old, rundown Shotengai (arcade) and was tricky to find. The place had seen it’s prime day back in the 70’s and 80’s, but now sat in ruin. Businesses running inside had been there for decades, and though the owners surely made only small change, they had the warmest smiles. Especially the old man who gave me free pears when I’d buy an apple, and the old woman running the most delicious oden shop.
A small coffee shop with smoke stained walls and hand-written menus existed in one corner of the arcade, and inside the owner smiled and waited patiently as I tried to converse in my broken Japanese. In another corner, an old women danced with customers in her run-down karaoke parlor and sang beautifully to songs of ages past, with a delicate paper fan fluttering in her hands as she moved to the music. The Shotengai was truly a place of comfort. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
I arrived at the station to see an American waiting for me. To my surprise, the owner of the Airbnb was a man from California, living in Osaka for the past 10 years with his Japanese wife, and most recently, his son from another marriage had joined them from the US. He explained that the Airbnb was inside his Eikaiwa (English School) on the 2nd floor. I told him I had worked for a Japanese school back in Michigan teaching ESL. We made small talk and upon arrival, he introduced me to his son, who was near in age to me. After I got situated, I was invited out by the family for karaoke. For the first time since I ran away from Nara, I breathed a sign of relief at the normalcy of this environment. I started to feel at home.
My days would continue like this, spending time with the owner’s son. We explored Osaka Castle, Harukas Building, and rode bicycles to several shrines. We visited Namba at night, and walking through the city, I had never felt more alive. Being with this family, my days were filled with such bliss that I could almost forget about my looming situation on the horizon. As I neared my last day at their Airbnb, I woke one morning to a text from the owner. I was offered a deal.
In exchange for teaching a few classes in their Eikaiwa, and spending some time advertising their business, they would let me stay in a recent apartment they had acquired with the intention of renting it out on Airbnb. Part of my deal would also be sharing that apartment’s first floor with incoming guests, and cleaning up after them. This exchange felt like a Godsend. I had a home, with a kind family looking out for me, and my fears could be laid to rest. How had I found such luck? It didn’t matter. I was ready to get off the roller coaster and have a smooth last few months.
For the next month and a half, I filled every day to the brim with travel. Osaka was an excellent central point to easily reach Kyoto, Nara, and Kobe. Together with my dear friend, we ventured every coffee shop in a 2-hour radius, attended festivals, anime conventions, and places of pure, uninterrupted nature. I really can’t emphasize enough what she did for me while I was in Japan. It would not have been even half the experience it was without her, and her family. Angels, all of them. The cherry blossom season came, and went, and I saw one of my biggest dreams realized.
I said I’d come back to this — Fushimi Inari Taisha! I lived and breathed the scene from the movie that started it all. I lack the words to even begin to explain what this meant to me. This place is haunting in a way you wouldn’t expect. Whether or not you believe in spirits, you feel them here.
The stories I could tell about this month and a half are so filled to the brim with content, I could probably fill a book–or two. But I will leave these stories in my travel tabs, so seek them out if you wish. Time passed slowly during the days, and quickly during the nights, as every night ended in dim bar lights, bright neon signs, bad karaoke, contagious laughter, and stumbling drunkenly for the last train, only to catch it about half the time. That, some might argue, was the true Japanese experience. But before I knew it, 2 months had come and gone, and I faced my last month riding a cloud of bliss. Unfortunately, this world seems to operate in equivalent exchange, and for this highest of highs I felt, I would be struck with a lower low than I was prepared to deal with.
The People You Meet Along The Way
It’s hard to know how to begin this chapter. It’s something I haven’t shared with many because perhaps, I haven’t entirely finished processing what happened. Speaking from experience, it is hard to make this unbiased. But I do not share this to shame or target– rather to share how this experience shaped me, and made me realize hope in a very dark place.
Along this journey I had made many friends, all of whom spoke some amount of English. And this experience may not be true of all who foreigner’s who decide to call Japan home, but I think many would agree with experiencing this sense at some point in their journey. When you find yourself living in a country where you cannot communicate fluently, you might find yourself naturally gravitating towards speakers of your own language. I told myself when I arrived in Japan for the first time that I would not go down this path. But no one cannot account for the loneliness that creeps in, and the stark sense of isolation that comes with living in Japan. It is an introvert’s dream, but everyone has a limit to how long they can go before they miss the warmth of a friendly smile or a simplistic café chat about the weather with a stranger. You naturally start to cling to things that feel familiar – and before you know it, you’ve spent most of your time in a foreign country speaking your own language, not having learned much of the native tongue. The thing about these foreign communities is that they are connected–everyone knows everyone, and just because you are 6,000 miles from your own home doesn’t mean that people stop behaving like people there. Problems happen, people argue, and friendships end. And sometimes, the best thing you can do is learn from that experience, and move on.
The family I was working for/renting my apartment from had a mutual friend who would teach us Japanese on the weekends. She is one of those people who are just exceptionally brilliant– she spoke three languages fluently and sacrificed her free time to helping make Japan a more comfortable place for us. We would often go to dinner together at our favorite local dive and converse the night away. About three weeks before I was due to return to the US, we were all gathered in the usual spot, enjoying dinner. An innocent conversation rolled out related to something our teacher had posted on social media. But something about this struck a cord with the owner of my apartment. He told her that personal things don’t belong on social media and she argued that she had the freedom to post whatever she wanted and if he didn’t like seeing it, there was always an option to unfollow. I felt stuck in the middle, but couldn’t disagree with what she was saying – we are all entitled to our freedom, whether or not another person agrees with what is being said. I made my choice to express this opinion.
“Get out.”
He told me I had no right to stay in that apartment any longer and that I needed to be gone the next day. I went into the bathroom and cried.
If this seems like an irrational reaction to disagreeing with someone’s opinion, I’d agree with you. And it took me a long time to realize that this was the last straw, not the first. Because a few days earlier, I heard a knocking at my door late at night. It was his wife, and she asked to come in. She was scared, and I didn’t know how to comfort her except to make her a cup of tea and offer an ear. She said he had gotten angry and broken things in their home. She felt like she needed to get out. To this day, I relive that moment in shame and wish I had the knowledge and confidence to help her seek out a service for domestic abuse. I wasn’t sure how far he had gone, or if he was hurting her physically, but that didn’t matter. She was scared, and felt unsafe. And before I knew it, he was outside my apartment, calling her name. She apologized and quietly left. And that was the last time I ever saw her.
[I hope wherever you are, you are okay. And I’m sorry I didn’t do more.]
So you can see, I knew too much. That’s why the safest thing he could do to protect the construct he had built was to push everyone else out of it. That meant me. I collected myself and returned to the table to see he had gone. Our teacher, bless her heart, thanked me for standing up for her, but said she felt responsible for getting me removed from my lodgings. I told her that wasn’t necessary, and that I spoke out of my own accord. She owed me nothing. She made no promises, but said she had an idea in mind for where I could stay for the remainder of my time in Japan. This is why friends are so very, very important.
The next day I packed my bags and quietly set out for a station I had never been to before. When I arrived, I was greeted by 8 Filipino girls, and my teacher. They took the luggage from my hands and helped me to the train. I cried. I still get emotional even now replaying this moment of kindness in my mind.
The last three weeks, I found a home I didn’t know existed and a community that could be welcoming even if we didn’t speak the same language. I woke up everyday to an empty house as they went together to their Japanese classes, but always found something delicious waiting for me for breakfast. At night, when they would return, we’d dance to YouTube videos together, try ridiculous yoga poses, laugh, take pictures, and share our cultures. It was beautiful. It was warm. And for a brief but precious time, I had 8 sisters.
Expect The Unexpected
Sometimes bad things have to happen to make us grow as humans, and teach us important lessons. I knew I would be returning to America a different person who left, and wasn’t sure what to make of that. But there was something deep within me that I trusted whenever things turned bad… whether than was the universe speaking, guardian angels, or Buddha himself. I always listened. It never led me astray. I just kept moving forward. And so did the days. As I found myself with about 10 days before I was due to return, I was living out my last few days with small trips alone to places I knew I would miss when I was gone. Kyoto was one of these places. I loved walking through the old city. It was serene, and inspiring. I had just gotten off the express train from Osaka and passed through the gates when I was suddenly approached by a foreigner.
My first instinct was that she was lost and needed help from somebody who spoke her language. What she said, I couldn’t have possibly predicted.
“I’ve fallen in love with a man from Kyoto. I have this pass and have been looking for someone to give it to. It has one day left… would you like to use it?”
I was stunned. What she handed me was a JR Pass, a precious ticket that allows travel virtually anywhere in Japan for free. I thanked her endlessly, but let her know I would probably just use it to return to Osaka later that night. Still, a free trip back home would save me about $10, and as it was the end of my trip, the budget was tight, so I was grateful for any money that could be saved.
After a short walk together through the city, I wished her good luck in her future endeavors and said goodbye. I continued the day as I had planned- visiting temples. But something was nagging at me… a thought in the back of my mind that I was too afraid to let surface. ‘You could go ANYWHERE.’ There was one place I had not been able to visit that I felt a little saddened by, but the expense to visit there was far more than I could afford. That place was Hiroshima.
The day was late as I approached the station to return back to Osaka. I wrestled with my mind as an internal argument played out for hours.
“You don’t have enough money.”
“…But now you only have to pay one-way back, not a round trip. You’d be tight for money the last week in Japan, but you COULD do it.”
“…But you haven’t packed a bag. You haven’t prepared anything for this trip. Not even a hotel.”
“…So what? A little discomfort and wearing the same clothes for two days in a row isn’t that big a deal. Besides, when has not knowing where I’m going to sleep ever stopped me before?”
“… You could get in trouble.”
Ah, this was the big one. A JR Pass is registered to that person, and that person only. Using someone else’s could result in big trouble if I was caught. The girl explained that the officers at the gate don’t usually check carefully, they just wave you through when you hold up the pass.
“… When will you ever get this chance again?”
I had decided.
I found the gate for the shinkansen (bullet train) leaving for Hiroshima. It was a 3 hour journey, and I’d be leaving on the last train for the night, and arriving at 10pm. My heart beat out of my chest as I approached the gate.
I held up the pass…
… And was waved through. I walked in disbelief. I made it. I was on my way to Hiroshima. There was no going back.
I rode the shinkansen in complete anxiety the whole 3 hours, wondering if I’d get caught by someone checking tickets on the train, or at the gate waiting for me in Hiroshima.
As we arrived at the final terminal, I exited the train, heart racing. I approached the final gate and…
I was waved through again.
I had made it. I was here. My final journey was about to begin.
Hiroshima
As I descended the steps and made my way into the streets, my body was filled with nervous excitement. I was alone in a different way than before. I knew no one in this city, and was too far away for anyone to reasonably come to my aid should something happen. Anything could happen. It was all in my control. And tomorrow, would be a bright day filled to the brim with exploration, but first, I needed rest.
I walked into the streets below the station and was met with a sea of red and white. Fans of the baseball team “Hiroshima Carps” flooded the streets in every direction, celebrating a recent win. I wasn’t sure what I expected of this city based on what I knew of it’s history, but I hadn’t expected it to be this… lively. As I desperately searched by phone for an airbnb after several rejections due to my request being too last minute, I decided the only chance I had was a hotel. I was in luck, there was one only 10 minutes away! But if you’ve been to Japan, you know that roads can look like sidewalks, and it’s almost impossible not to get lost in a new place. I gave myself a pep talk and worked up the courage to ask somebody for directions in Japanese. I approached a young girl and guy cheerfully chatting together.
[In Japanese] “Excuse me, do you know where this hotel is?”
[In English] “Oh, are you by yourself?
What? She spoke English? She explained that she had studied at a university in America for 2 years. Was this the universe smiling at me again? I’d take it.
As we continued chatting and I explained how I arrived, she commended me for my reckless bravery but also said she was concerned about me finding a place to stay tonight as fans had probably booked all the nearby hotels and it was so late, there were no more trains running at that time of night.
“Why not stay with me?”
And just like that, I was saved again. These two perfect strangers decided to adopt me after knowing nothing about me, and showed me to their friend’s bar to celebrate victory like true Carp’s fans.
The next day, I woke up preparing to say goodbye to the girl I had just met, but she had another plan.
Ginger of Japan 