Almost ten years I’ve lived in Europe. I didn’t even believe it at first when I counted it. Ten. Years. Started out just doing my Master’s in France and ended up having five years of experiences working in a tech startup in Luxembourg. Quoting Charles Dickens himself:
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times
– Charles Dickens
But basically, nearing the end of my stay (at that time, I didn’t know yet that it was going to be the end of my stay) in Europe, I started asking myself the following questions: would I stay here for the next ten years? With my wife and kids–rapidly growing kids, should I just continue on what I’ve been doing up to that point?
The answer, perhaps a bit unsurprisingly, came quite easy: no, I do not want to. And with my oldest about to start going to school, what better time to move out than now?
The question was: where to move? If I have to ask myself, and if I can choose, where do I want to stay and spend the next ten, or maybe more, years of my life?
Everything passes. Nobody gets anything for keeps
– Haruki Murakami
Time passed and suddenly I found myself and my family on our feet, standing in front of our new apartment in Tokyo. One moment we were distraught over the fact that we’d have to throw away some of our stuff in Luxembourg, and the next moment I was in a subway in Shinjuku, shoulder to shoulder with people going to work in the morning.
One moment I was learning Japanese as a hobby, and then suddenly I had to learn Japanese to survive. From simple conversations in 7-Eleven to refuse a plastic bag, to asking the bank teller to help me transfer money to my landlord for paying this month’s rent—everything came at me all at once. It was overwhelming, to say the least.
But here’s the interesting thing: even with all those challenges, I quickly learned that no matter how many things we have to face, all of them can be handled one by one with enough patience. During those patience-testing times, it’s normal to feel handicapped.
So—feeling frustrated because you can’t open a bank account without a phone number? It’s normal. Feeling frustrated because you have to pay the full amount when you bring your child to the doctor because the health insurance card not yet arrived? It’s normal.
I’ve learned that, one by one, those handicaps will disappear. There is a certain order here—a bureaucracy—that we just have to navigate bit by bit. The only unfortunate thing is that, unlike when I was in France or Luxembourg, I don’t understand the language quite well here. Untangling those bureaucratic processes feels harder.
Still, I can only trust the system to take care of me and my family well.
And that brings me to this final impression from my first three months here: it’s been surprisingly easy to find reliable people. From the back-office staff at my new employer’s office to the building manager of my apartment, and from the cashier at the nearby Lawson to the personnel at the local municipal office—everyone seems competent and trustworthy. There’s a sense of harmony, a feeling that people are genuinely trying their best to help.
In turn, this inspires me to pay back with my own efforts, multiplied. The mutual respect I’ve experienced here—regardless of where I come from or who I am—is something I haven’t felt so deeply in a long, long time. It’s a refreshing and uplifting experience that makes me feel more connected to people around me.
Still, though, not everything has been resolved. There are still some handicaps I face, especially when navigating the bureaucracies here. Yet, despite these challenges, I feel optimist. Moving forward feels easier here, and I believe that with time, patience, and effort, things will always get better.
Japan has already taught me so much, and I look forward to what the future holds.
And maybe, just maybe, I will try to write more, this time for real