It was an immensely enjoyable summer. I grew a beard, went on my first real hike in the country, bought a new camera, met some interesting people and did plenty of exploration, both alone and with friends. And moved, of course.
And now, it’s now been about a year and a half since I came to Japan. I’m sitting in my lazy bedtime clothes, fresh out of the shower and I once again find myself feeling nostalgic, as has happened so many times within the last eighteen months.
In Canada, I barely had time for goodbyes; but then, I somehow found myself too preoccupied to care (at the time). Sure it’s heartless, but it’s honest. Why leave Vancouver, anyways? Especially for some place that I definitely didn’t (don’t) belong? I’ve gotten that question a lot, from old faces back in Canada, as well as new faces in Japan.
Well, to put it simply—the monotony was suffocating.
Being one of the least-worldly and adventurous people around had left a metaphoric dull cloud constantly hovering above my life, as I saw it. I chose Japan because it was safe and, in a way, familiar; what with my passion for Kurosawa movies and Murakami novels among numerous other cultural exports.
After much dreaming and half-assed planning, I did my best, or what I thought was my best, to prepare. Regardless, at the time, things were so fast and hectic that I didn’t have time to second-guess my preparations or feel any kind of fear.
Japan was finally happening. I was leaving my job, leaving my friends, leaving my family, and most importantly, leaving my comfort zone.
Regrets? More than I can count. Regrets from my first month here and regrets still clawing away at the back of my mind, desperate to come forward. But there’s really no need to get into that now, is there? It’s pointless is what it is.
I’m still here, and I don’t know what the future will bring. But I’m doing my damnedest to make sure it’s a future I’ll be proud of. I hope.