Currently it is 5:00 a.m. The humidity has already somehow winnowed
through the cracks of my balcony door and left me feeling like I need to take my
third shower in less than 24 hours. The Japanese early morning sunlight (there
is a reason why they call it the land of the rising sun, as I have found out)
is relentless, and through my crusty, jet-lagged eyes, I sit in my room silently
for an hour and watch the day begin in Tokyo through a fire of pink and orange.
In short, I am in pain, but life is beautiful.
I went to Tokyo with a blank slate of expectations and a suitcase full of Hawaiian shirts and combat boots. With very minimal Japanese language abilities and no experience traveling on my own, I suffocated myself in a very American cloud of optimism, assured myself (and a hoard of vaguely concerned family and friends) that I was indeed making the right decision to immerse myself abroad for the entire year, and then proceeded to ignore every single pang of fear and doubt in my mind.
What had scared me most was not the worry of isolation, of being lost and left behind by some insurmountable language barrier—as I’m someone generally comfortable being independent—but rather that living in Japan for the year would be a waste, and I would have been better staying in a Village B apartment complex or the newly constructed Arrupe S.J. Hall with the friends I know and love. To me, what was most terrifying was imagining an entire year in which I remained stagnant, staying the same due to my own fears, and not seizing the opportunity to push myself and grow.
By the conclusion of my first full day, all of my regrets evaporated. It was as Japanese as I had hoped. Where else could I start off the day with an atomic green melon soda at Denny’s, experience rich religious and cultural history at the famous Meiji Shrine—a huge expanse of buildings and trails, right in the center of Tokyo—and then travel over the Rainbow Bridge to see the giant Gundam anime robot statue outside of a shopping mall? It represented everything I love about Japan, especially the country’s ability to combine traditional elements with a sharp-gaze to the future, and an endearing eccentricity in the form of otaku culture. This was certainly not a view that could be found anywhere near Georgetown’s campus (although I would be very pleased, to say the least, if I returned to campus next September to find a 50 ft. tall robot somewhere between John Kerry and Madeleine Albright’s homes). It is precisely that type of incomparability, to the college lifestyle I lived before, that I desired for my year abroad.
The year is only beginning. I can’t predict what obstacles I’ll have to face or the ways I’ll be forced to grow and mature, but I do know for certain that the only regret I feel now is doubting my decision in the first place…and not taking a picture with the giant robot.
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