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 Sailor Scouts and Final Fantasy characters. I grew up loving Japanese anime and video games before I even realized they were Japanese.
Now, I’m not so vain as to compare myself to a superhero. I am far lacking from anyone’s hero. But there were moments in Japan where I felt like I was stepping outside my body to watch myself act in the worst remake of Sailor Moon I’ve ever seen. The experiences I had in Japan almost broke my spirit more times than I can count, but I was always saved by the kindness of friends. (See what I mean? Worst Sailor Moon rendition ever.) And seriously, this might be cheesy at times, so if that line made you gag a little, you might be in the wrong corner of the internet.
Now, where was I?
Ah, yes.
Travel back in time with me. The year is 2005. I’m twelve years old and sitting down to watch a movie that’s about to change my life.
“Memoirs of a Geisha.”
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 story-telling, everything 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)
Just…ugh. Poetic perfection. I love everything about this movie. 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. Did I make it? 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. (Yeah girl, you go!) 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? 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. (And no, this is not sponsored. I wish. *sigh*)
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 exploring in Tokyo for the first week before making Nara my semi-permanent residence. Nara was ideal because I had a friend living there, and it was an excellent middle point between Osaka and Kyoto, which I also hoped to visit during this stay.
And in March of 2017, I set off!
…Only to get stuck at the an airport in Canada for 5 hours. But everything happens for a reason.
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 the world by storm 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 part time job at a 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 in the airport lobby, 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 it off 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 that night, Obaa-san’s favorite show.
In between running grocery trips for Obaa-san and cleaning the apartment, which was our agreed arrangement for my stay, the young 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 for the first time. 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. For a person with a people-pleasing complex, I hit instant rock-bottom. Tears. Guilt. Fear.
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. It wasn’t what I thought we had agreed to. 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 retrospect, 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, no where to go, the future completely unknown, and still two and a half months to go before my flight back, I gathered all my courage and 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 gave 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.
In one corner of the arcade, a small coffee shop with smoke stained walls and hand-written menus existed. 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 a wonderous place, full of life and understated beauty. 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, and 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.
That week, 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. 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 dimly lit bars, with 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. Maybe my experience will help you in some way… or maybe not. It’s not for me to know.
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 briefly imagined myself in a Japanese jail. I shook the thought from my mind and forced my legs forward.
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.
(Disclosure: I don’t advise doing this today. The JR Pass has changed since then and I’m not sure about security as of late, especially post-Covid 19. And if you are the government reading this… this… is all non-fiction. Please don’t sue me. 🙂
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.
The Final Journey
Hiroshima is not what you expect. Seriously. Until you’ve been there, it will not match your mental image.
Given the history, I was expecting it to be a somber city, full of solemn people. I expected it to be unwelcome to Americans. Though I was there to pay my respects, I was prepared full and well to be starred at with disgust or even yelled at for nearing the atomic bomb museum, and I would have accepted those emotions without question.
But I was so, so wrong. Hiroshima is vibrant, proud, cheerful, and welcoming beyond belief. I don’t think I’m generalizing this either.
I woke up in the girl’s apartment to a soft voice in the distance. It sounded like someone talking on the phone. Of course, it was the middle of the week! She probably had work and I was keeping her from leaving. I was certain I had overstayed my welcome and jumped up to apologize and see myself out.
She saw me and signaled me to wait. I couldn’t understand what she was saying, but it sounded like casual Japanese, so I figured it wasn’t her boss. Once she was off the phone, she told me that her friend from last night called off work so he could come over.
“We are both free now! Let’s go somewhere!”
“Are you sure? Is it really okay?
“Of course! We both really wanted to keep hanging out with you.”
Stunned. I was stunned. For every low, a high will follow. These perfect strangers opened their homes to me. And now, they were offering their whole day to tour me around the city after everything they had already done for me. It was a kindness I didn’t know how to repay. It astounded me, and confirmed everything I felt about jumping on that train late at night without a plan. I had made the right choice.
I left everything in their hands. And the boat was leaving soon. The boat to Miyajima Island.
Miyajima Island & The Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum
It was a bright morning as we set out on the ocean for a destination I had never heard of. But I was excited to be going anywhere with these two. We snapped pictures and wore the biggest smiles in anticipation as the island drew nearer. A gorgeous temple and huge Tori gate loomed in the distance. It was as if they were floating in the ocean. I had never felt the ocean. Being a Michigander, I had been surrounded by lakes my whole life, but never knew the feeling of salt water on my skin. When we disembarked, we ran straight for the glittering seas.
In all its towering glory, the Tori gate stood tall, a symbolic icon of Miyajima. I gazed across the waters, feeling the warm gentle waves roll towards my feet, and briefly, reflected on the journey thus far. I had been through more ups and downs in 2 months than most people experience in a year. Who was I now? I felt stronger. Braver. More fearless than ever before. And I was determined to make today into a glorious memory I’d think back on fondly years from now.
We ventured all over the island, finding wonder in all it’s nooks and crannies. The walk through the market almost felt like a different world. We stopped at a restaurant where my guest were determined to make sure I tried the freshest oysters in all the land. I didn’t know I could love oysters until I tasted the ones in Miyajima. Completely unmatched.
We visited temples, pet deer (Miyajima is only the 2nd place in Japan where you can do this!), drank local beer, and saw the beauty of the island from it’s highest points. As the morning grew into mid-afternoon, we set out for our second destination of the day. This one set a nervous beating in my heart.
The Atomic Bomb Museum.
As we departed the boat, my worries grew. I wasn’t sure how my two new friends would react to my being there. They offered to take me, but did they actually want me there? Would it be rude of me? Will it change their opinion of me?
As we continued to walk towards the museum, I grew quiet. In the distance, the ruins of a building still stood as a remnant of the past. This unmistakable structure was the Genbaku Dome, previously an exhibition hall for local products, but now, infamously recognized as the last standing structure to exists following the explosion. It was a hollow, empty shell of a place that once held happy people and joyous laugher. My heart sank. My throat was tight. We proceeded on.
We approached a park. A figure of a girl stood tall, holding a giant paper crane. I had heard the stories, but seeing it in person brought such sadness. Her name was Sadako Sasaki, and she was only 2 when the bombs fell. Like many people who survived the initial bombing, they thought they had escaped with their lives that day, only to suffer years later from the inescapable radiation and cancer that wreaked havoc on their bodies. Sasaki-san was hospitalized with Leukemia 10 years later. Prospects were grim, but a classmate told her the legend of the paper cranes. As it goes, if a person can fold 1,000 paper cranes, they will be allowed a single wish. Sasaki-san, determined to live, folded day in and day out. And though she reached her goal, she died at the age of 12. She was buried with her cranes, and to this day, people from around the world fold and send paper cranes to the memorial in her honor.
At this point, I was fighting to hold back tears. My new friends were quiet as well, but in a thoughtful way. They gave me space as I began to process these inexplicable feelings. Pain. Remorse. Guilt. Anger. I hated war. But something was compelling me to go on. I needed to see this through to our final destination.
I want to preface this next part by telling you, I don’t have any photos to share, nor do I want to. The experience when I entered the Memorial was far beyond what a photo could tell. It didn’t feel right to photograph anything. It is an experience meant to be felt, in a room with people who share the same heart. Because when you step through those doors, you are one with every person inside. The air is heavy. People are crying. There is silence. All you can do is feel. I don’t know how long I was there. But my friends were gracious enough to help me get a headset, so I could understand everything to it’s fullest, and then they stepped away, and let me experience it alone. And I will always be thankful to them for that gift. The Hiroshima Peace Memorial is a place everyone should visit once in their lifetime. I feel my throat tighten and my eyes tear up just writing about it. It’s an experience that will never leave you. A necessary, painful reminder of the horrors of war.
It was here that I understood why the people of Hiroshima were so kind. Why no one yelled at me, or made me feel out of place, or gave me dissatisfied looks. They want to share this place. Not to make you feel guilty for the past, but maybe, possibly, out of hope for a brighter future. It leads me to wonder… if everyone who starts wars visited this place first, would it bring an end to them? A foolish hope, maybe, but a hope nonetheless.
I left the Memorial in a solemn state. I wasn’t sure what to say or do. But I felt such gratitude to them for the day they had given me. In our final hours, they treated me to Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki, and guided me back to the station. I had no money or gifts to give them as we parted ways, but I promised myself, one day, somehow, I would find them again and find a way to repay the kindness they showed me during my time in Hiroshima. They changed my life that day, and I hope, in a smaller way, I might have changed theirs too.
Thank you for everything. You are two of the kindest souls I have ever met.
The Beginning of the End
My final days in Japan were filled with tearful goodbyes, and lots of beer. A good send-off, I might add. And what a journey it had been. I knew who I was coming to Japan, but going back, I wasn’t entirely sure anymore. And that was okay. But I knew I didn’t want to keep things as they were. I couldn’t return to the mundane anymore. My soul longed for something more. Japan had always been on my life map, but now, it was the final destination. I was sure of it. I didn’t want to leave. Alas, I had a plane ticket, no money, and a roommate expecting my return.
My last day in Japan had arrived. I said my goodbyes to the Filipino girls, and Sensei I had stayed with the night before, and stayed with a friend who lived nearby the airport. It was a tearful goodbye, as I repeated ceaselessly how I would keep in touch with them through social media and we’d meet again.
I boarded my bus to the airport and was midway to my final destination when my phone pinged. It was my friend and former student, returning from his trip to America. What I didn’t mention previously is that we had grown closer during my time in Japan, but he lived in a different city and I only had a chance to visit that city once during my stay, as it wasn’t very close. We had expected to miss each other, but due to some miracle, his plane was quicker than he had expected, and he was at the airport at the same time as me. It felt like fate bringing us together. I had to see him.
I navigated the confusing terminals at Narita Airport in a panic, worried about whether I would have enough time to catch my flight, and him, to catch his connection to his hometown. I ran, luggage in tow, desperately trying to find a familiar face in the crowd. And suddenly, there he was. A feeling of comfort rushed over my body as I slammed into him in a tight embrace. We spent 20 blissful minutes together before saying goodbye. My heart ached as we separated, but we both felt that this would not be the end to our story. I rushed to my flight counter, only to be hit with the last news I wanted to hear.
I was too late.
The gates had closed. And the next flight? 24 hours and $100 away. Having to call your Dad and make up an excuse for why you missed your flight and needed him to spot you money? 0/10, do not recommend.
Would I do it again and relive my reckless youth?
In a heartbeat.
And that’s where you’d think I’d be ending this story, but life had one more surprise in store for me that day.
The staff explained that once the last flight leaves, the departure terminals close, and the only 24-hour area is the international arrivals. I had no money to stay at a hotel, and was definitely not going to risk leaving the airport, so I decided to hunker down in my own little corner of the arrivals terminal, spread uncomfortably across a row of seats while I waited for the time to pass. And pass. And pass. I dozed in and out of sleep while announcements echoed in the background, and the bright luminescent lights disrupted any possibility for a good nights sleep.
I awoke to the sound of footsteps. It was 6 or 7am, and the first flight of arrivals from who-knows-where was exiting the airport to begin their journey. It was strange to have lived here 3 months and be coming full circle while looking into the faces of people who wore such obvious excitement from cheek to cheek, not yet sure of what lie in store for them. I wondered if I looked like that 3 months ago. I silently wished them the best experience of their lives, minus the heartache.
Once it began to liven to the point that I could no longer attempt to drift back asleep, I sat up to see a film crew curiously walking around, interviewing people. “What is happening?” I tried to listen in but figured I looked too sorry a state with my sleep-deprived eyes, wearing yesterdays makeup, for them to consider approaching. One man turned, looked right at me, and made his way towards me, crew in tow. I heart raced and my internal monologue began. “I don’t speak much Japanese, what am I going to say to this guy?”
“Hello, how are you?”
“I..I’m okay. How are you?”
“Good. Could we ask you a question? Why did you come to Japan?”
The camera was rolling. The film crew, which I would later find out was a popular local TV segment of the morning news called “YOUは何しに日本へ” literally translates to “Why did you come to Japan?”
I explained my situation, and they laughed as I told them I had been trapped here for the past 24 hours. Thinking they could make something of this situation, they decided to instead ask me about my favorite experience that I had in Japan.
I paused and thought for a moment. My favorite? How could I choose? Every experience I had was irreplaceably precious. But they needed a story, and out of every experience I had in Japan, the best story with the happiest ending will always be Hiroshima. It’s still my favorite to tell to this day. So I told them. For 5 minutes, I explained how I had come to meet those two incredible people, and the adventure we had. They asked me to email them photos, and we said our goodbyes.
That’s the last I know of it. I boarded the plane, never being able to see the morning news and whether I made it on National Television or not.
It’s possible my story wasn’t news-worthy enough, or didn’t fit with their theme. It’s possible that it exists in some corner of the internet and I have no way of finding it. If you’re a super internet sleuth and manage to find the clip of me, could you send it my way? I left in May of 2017, if that’s anything to go off. It’s something I’ve wondered about for years.
And that’s it. That’s my first journey to Japan. The journey that shaped me. Changed me. Inspired me.
I would later marry that guy I met at the airport, and find myself living in Japan 4 years later. But our story is still being written. And in the meantime, I hope this website will serve as a collection of our memories that work to shape, change, and inspire you to have your own adventure in Japan.
Seriously, go to Japan.
Just go. GO!
And thanks for sticking this story out ’til the end, kindred spirit.
-CJ
Ginger of Japan 