Just a few months after graduating high school, I made the bold decision of fulfilling one of the wishes on my bucket list: study abroad in Japan. Despite having no previous experience living alone, and as guilty as I felt asking my father to shell out money for the trip, I knew my chances of fulfilling this wish would be slim once I was set on the track towards medical school. When I finally reached the airport, walking through the security checkpoint, where I could do no more than wave at my parents, a sliver of fear slipped inside me with a reminder of how alone I would be, especially in the next 30 hours. I took a deep breath, and exhaled, and repeated several times, focusing on the excitement instead of the fear, and a profound strength overcame me. I was determined to live the next three months independently, and enjoy them to the fullest.

My first arrival in Japan was hectic and quite taxing. My destination required a transfer in Tokyo, and when I arrived late at night, I spent a great deal of time scrambling around to find a worker. The language barrier was a challenging obstacle, the humidity almost suffocated me, and the drizzling rain put a damper on my mood. Finally, I reached my room I would stay in before my flight in the morning, and I sank into the large square cloud that was my bed. My immediate thought was to contact my parents, and they were relieved to hear I was safe, but maybe I was the one more relieved to hear a familiar voice. I was being reminded yet again that traveling alone would be tough, but I breathed through the anxiety and let a warm shower help me fall asleep. Much later, after having someone from the school pick me up and show me around the neighborhood, I stepped into my dorm room, and knowing this little space would be my home for the next three months placed worries in my head. There was a large fear of being disappointed due to the high expectations I had brought. There was a hope this entirely new world would be as incredible as I hoped, but there was also a chance I would have experiences that would be just the opposite. I acknowledged that I was comfortable living in a particular environment: a home surrounded by familiar furniture and a comforting scent, decorated by childhood photographs framed and hung on the wall, with the occasional smell of my mother’s cooking, where my family would be waiting for me. This is the world I grew up in, and as far as I remembered, this was the only home I knew. Now, I would have to accustom to a completely new environment, and what’s more, a different lifestyle.

In the morning, I had to wake up early for breakfast, which was served in a small cafeteria on the first floor. I habitually stopped at the serving window, holding my tray of food, scanning the four rows of tables with the fantasy of having the confidence to sit next to someone new and make a friend; however, I would always choose a quiet spot at the end of a table, and eat quickly so as to have more time to walk to school. The fifteen minute walk to the school showed me something new every time. Compared to my usual train commute to school in the past four years of high school, walking was a refreshing way to mentally prepare myself for classes. Unlike New York City, the streets were more narrow and I could almost look into the front windows of passing houses, the pavement was clear of black spots and litter, and the morning air wafted a different scent into my senses. As the street crossing lights changed, playful tones rang through the block, and I realized how few people occupied the sidewalks. This was a much smaller town, where each shop seemed to pull me in by my curiosity, revealing a piece of the owner’s identity, and as for more established businesses, the shop exterior revealed much of Japanese customer service culture. Advertisements were brightly colored and presented in large fonts, easily grabbing my attention. Finally, I reached my school building, and as with my dorm building, I was still getting used to transitioning from my outdoor shoes to the slippers provided, before walking inside. The list of new customs and rules I experienced seemed to increase most of my stay in Japan, but what I found at the end of my study abroad, was not that I had become adjusted to them. Instead, I had come to understand the values of a different culture.  

For instance, Japan’s reputation of cleanliness comes from a combination of strictly maintained customs and citizens who are willing to be strict on themselves in consideration of keeping their environment clean. They value hygiene in every aspect of their lives, ranging from the floor in their homes to the organization of their trash. I came to both understand and appreciate this perspective, along with the importance of taking consideration for others. By touring different popular places, challenging new foods, and participating in iconically Japanese activities and customs, of course, I expanded my world by mere exposure to existing culture I would have never experienced had I not come to Japan. However, the real enrichment I gained from this experience, and the most overwhelming aspect to which I had to adjust, was joining a circle of people whose steps I had to follow to belong. In order to follow those steps, at least without feeling forced or miserable, was to pretend to stand in the shoes of the people around me, embrace for a while the values they held so highly in their lives, and act in accordance to those values. Returning home to America, more than any of the souvenirs I packed, I felt satisfied with the new perspectives I had unknowingly brought with me. I would not say my experience changed my values or beliefs, but I made a few modifications to my lifestyle to consider new parts of the world to which I had not paid attention before.