This Alternate Universe Called "Japan"

A personal essay

On the evening of the seventeenth of December 2014, I receive a life-changing assignment. “Japan, Fukuoka,” my lips mutter and I am stunned. I am going to Japan.

I stare blankly, trying to take it all in, and instantly, gongs ring in my ears. The only thing I know about the country is what I’ve learned through pop culture and media. Japan is where they wear red dresses and pull their hair back in buns, and let their tiny facial hairs grow on the sides of their lips until they are long enough to drip into their sushi sauce. It’s the place where they say, “konnichiwa” for hello, or maybe it’s “nihao,” I’m not quite sure. Over and over those gongs sound in my head reminding me of how much I do not know about Japan. The sun is setting now, leaving traces of pink and orange in the sky. 

On the sixth of April 2015, at the crack of dawn, the sun greets us. I’m traveling with a group of others, but somehow, I feel quite alone. The plane is extremely large—a Boeing 747. There are endless rows of seats, each with three on the left—aisle—three in the middle—aisle—and three on the right. I’m stuck in the middle. All of those nights I dreamt of sitting in the window seat to watch the clouds roll by are swept away in a gust.