ThemomentIsteppedofftheplaneatNaritaAirportthreeyearsago,IbelievedI’dfoundmypromisedland.CherryblossomsflutteredintheAprilbreeze,andtheorderlyhumofTokyo’sstreetsfeltlikeabalmtomyrestlesssoul.Fast-forwardtotoday,andI’mtypingthesewordsfroma9-square-meterapartmentinOsaka,theglowofvendingmachinesseepingthroughpaper-thinwalls,wonderinghowmydreamcurdledintothisquietdespair.
I’dromanticizedJapanthroughStudioGhiblifilmsandhaikupoetry,envisioningalifewhereancienttemplescoexistedwithcutting-edgetechnology.Reality,however,dealtitsfirstblowduringmyinauguralvisittoasupermarket.ThereIstood,acollege-educatedadult,suddenlyilliteratebeforepackageslabeledexclusivelyinkanji.Milkbecameaguessinggamebetweencartonsfeaturingcartooncowsanddubious“healthycalcium-plus”claims.MyJapanesetextbookphrases—“Whereisthestation?”and“Ilikesushi”—crumbledintouselessnesswhenfacedwithacashier’srapid-firequestionaboutpointcardsandplasticbagfees.
Workculturehitlikeatyphoon.AtmyTokyoeikaiwa(Englishschool),studentsboweddeeplywhilewhisperingexhaustedsighs.My28-year-oldmanager,sportingeyebagsdarkerthanhisnavysuit,oncefaintedmid-meetingfrom“karoshi”(overwork)symptoms.Wecarriedhimtoacouch,drapedacompanyjacketoverhisshakingshoulders,andresumeddiscussingnextmonth’ssalestargets.Thesilencethatfollowedwasn’trespectful—itwascomplicit.
Socialisolationmetastasizedslowly.Colleaguespolitelydeclinedkaraokeinvitationswithperfectedexcuses(“Mygrandmother’scatneedssurgery”).Neighborssmiledblanklywhenmytrashsortingerrorsleftcrypticcorrectionstickersonmydoor.Eventhemuch-touted“omotenashi”(hospitality)feltlikeaperformance—flawlessonthesurface,impenetrablebeneath.I’veattendedthreehanami(flower-viewing)partieswhereeveryonediscussedtheweatherwithmeteorologicalprecision,butnotoncedidanyoneask,“WhydidyoucometoJapan?”
Financialrealitiesstrippedtheanimeglamour.My“adequate”salaryevaporatedunder120,000yenmonthlyrentand500-yentrainrides.Whenamolarcrackedlastwinter,IlearnedJapan’snationalhealthinsurancedoesn’tcover“cosmetic”procedures—apparently,chewingisvanity.NowI’vegotaDIYdentalrepairkitfromDonQuijoteandanewfoundrespectforsoftfoods.
Thecruelesttwist?I’vebecomeexactlywhatIvowednottobe:thegaijin(foreigner)caricature.Mysurvival-levelJapanesegetspatronizing“Jouzudesune!”(Howskilled!)comments,asifadultsshouldpraisetoddlersforwearingpantscorrectly.Myattemptstoadapt—wearingUniqlohead-to-toe,masteringconveniencestoreetiquette—onlyhighlightmyoutsiderstatus.Eventhecatatmylocalshrinehissesatme,thoughthatmightbepersonal.
Yethere’stherub:Japandidn’tlie.Thetrainsreallydorunontime,thestreetsstayspotless,andtheftremainsunthinkable.Bututopiasdemandconformity,andmyWestern-bredindividualismturnedouttobeastubbornstainnoamountofbowingcouldscrubaway.Maybeimmigrationisn’taboutfindingparadise—it’saboutdiscoveringwhichflavorsofhardshipyoucanstomach.Fornow,I’msurvivingonkombinionigiriandthethinhopethattomorrow’sbentomightcontainananswer,oratleastbetterdentalcoverage.
