Thinking back on all the times I’ve traveled, I’ve concluded that I have cried on an airplane far too many times before. I think the issue is that long flights give you so much time to be alone with just your thoughts, and well— this airplane ride is fueled with thoughts today, my friends. Let’s indulge, shall we? In this time in my life, I am as grown up as I have ever been, yet the feeling I had when my dad left me at the airport was similar to the one I had when my parents dropped me off at kindergarten. Granted, I have flown by myself many times before; navigated through the airport, made my way through security. But today, it wasn’t just an airplane ride. Today, it felt like the plane I was boarding would be flying me into a new chapter of my life, and I’m going to be honest— a very large part of me wanted to kick and scream in the middle of the security line so that my dad was forced to come back and pick me up— kindergarten style. You’ll be happy to know that the 6 year old deep within me did not prevail, and I civilly made my way through security like the adult I am reluctantly becoming. But then I boarded my plane, put my earbuds in... and I cried. You can only contain the inner 6 year old for so long. Let me backtrack:
This little adventure that I am currently returning from, started 2 days after I graduated high school. In that time of my life, I was at the top of the world. I slept in a completely packed room, the night before we left. Of course I had my carry on (You heard me. A carry on suitcase for an international trip. Mama taught me how to pack like a boss.) and my backpack loaded for our vacation, but the rest of my bedroom was packed away in boxes too. When I moved out of our old house in Chicago, I hated to see all the boxes around the house. So it was quite the change for me to get excited when packages would arrive at the front door, so that I could use the box to pack my stuff into. It was a change when my best friends came down to visit (courtesy of my graduation) and the first thing I said when they walked into my room was,”look at all my boxes!” like they were something to be proud of. And in a way, they kind of were, you know? Symbolic of my acceptance into college. Symbolic of a big turning point in my life. Also symbolic of the fact that I cleaned out my bedroom, which, my best friends of all people, know is a big deal. Granted, a cleanse like that is kind of necessary before starting a new chapter of your life. I mean, for instance, the “ex boyfriend box” did not make the cut for the list of things I chose to take to college with me. Some things you have to leave behind. And thus, I left it all behind— loaded up our car, made our way to the airport, and flew to a different country for the week. Because if I was going to make a grand entrance into this next chapter, it may as well start in Tokyo, right? And boy was Tokyo good to me.
I used to think that jet lag was the worst part of traveling. I mean you lay down at 3pm to “take a nap before dinner” and then the next think you know, it’s 1am, you’re still in jeans, and you wake up in a panic wondering where the hell you are. But Japan changed my mind about that one. I remember one of our first nights there, I woke up at 3am, unable to fall back asleep. I was jealous of my family who still seemed to be soundly sleeping, and after my efforts to sleep again failed, I got up to use the bathroom. And when I came out, everyone was sitting up in bed, laughing at the fact that we were all ready to start our day by 3 in the morning. Normally, the thought of waking up so early would sound groggy and uncomfortable to me. But there’s something so peaceful about ordering room service at 3am, watching the sun rise from the 42nd story of a hotel. That morning, I sat in a bath robe in a chair that faced a window that looked out on the entire city, and I wrote in my journal about how happy I was with the way my life was in that moment. I’ve never been a morning person. But in Japan, I was. And it made me realize that perhaps we have a lot more to learn from Japan than I originally thought.
Like one day, we were walking the streets of Kyoto, while my brother had on a headband that we had bought from one of the local gift shops. He looked like a little Karate Kid in it, and the symbols were supposed to translate into something like “fighting power” across the front. He had it on for at least an hour before this older couple, walking past us on the street, stopped us and laughed. Of course there was a language barrier so it was hard for us to understand, at first, why they were laughing. But then the man lifted his hands and made a motion as to say “turn your headband upside down”. And we all laughed. We saw them later on, driving past us in the back of a taxi, and the old man gave my brother a thumbs up through the window when he saw that he turned his headband the right way. In this lesson, Japan taught me to be good to people. It was such a simple gesture— one that I wouldn’t normally make a big deal out of. But I think about the amount of times that people snicker about other’s mistakes behind their back, yet in this instance— the mistake brought us a friend. An old friend who’s language was much different than ours, but a friend nonetheless. And I chose to carry this with me into my new chapter, to help me make friends in college.
There are a handful of lessons from Japan that I could elaborate on— don’t walk and eat, take your shoes off before entering, try new foods, hold your trash until you find a garbage can, bow to show gratitude, ALWAYS wait for the toilet seat to open for you. But my favorite one that I learned on our trip was the Japanese emphasis on family. I read in a book once, that in Japanese culture, people are called by their family name first, and their individual name second. They do this because in Japan, it is a common belief that the family holds more significance than the individual. I never grew up this way. My parents always emphasized my importance as an independent person. Of course I was taught lessons like “blood is thicker than water” and “always stand up for your brothers,” but at the end of the day, my parents wanted me to be my own person. And I did exactly that. But in Japan, I had moments to myself, where I appreciated my family far more than I could appreciate the tiny impact that little ole’ me could make on my own. Moments where my belly hurt from laughing at our group karaoke efforts. Moments when we were struggling trying to pick our noodles up with chop sticks. Moments when we were dressing up in Japanese robes and play fighting in the hotel room. Moments when we were eating exotic foods off of a stick. Moments when we got tired of the exotic foods and ended up at a pizza place in the middle of Japan. And all these moments just pile up until the trip is over, and I’m on my way home, crying on the airplane, because how could I start this next chapter, without my family by my side?
It seemed impossible. I mean, my family are my best friends. But coming back to this entry after experiencing life in college for the last 3 weeks, I’ve concluded that I’m not starting this chapter without them. I’m just learning that in my life, in an American life, the individual name comes first, and the family name comes second. Because in my life, sometimes the individual has to come before the family. But the family will always be there to support the individual. That’s how I was raised, after all. So while Japan taught me things that I probably should have kept with me forever, I find that I leave my shoes on before entering. I have garbage lying around, because I have yet to find a trash can. I lift my OWN toilet seat now. And I am definitely not a morning person. But now I find that I wake up in the morning with just enough time to open my blinds, sit at my desk that faces my windows, and think about how happy I am with the way that my life is in this moment.
