It’s been almost three months since we moved back to Japan in September.
Time has been passing quietly, almost too quickly, and I still find myself adjusting.
Coming back to Japan felt, at first, like returning to a familiar comfort zone—like I could simply pick up where I left off before moving to Vancouver.
But the reality has been different. Living here comes with a kind of pressure that’s hard to name.
The pressure to have a “good” job.
The pressure to meet the expectations people my age seem to carry.
And the pressure I place on myself—wondering if, after spending three years abroad, returning to Japan to work a job I never really wanted is the right choice.
None of these pressures are things people explicitly say.
They’re more like quiet voices that appear in the background, and I’ve been trying to navigate them one by one.
Japan is undeniably comfortable for me.
But comfort doesn’t mean the absence of weight.
To handle those thoughts, I’ve been reading a lot—partly thanks to Amazon’s big sale that convinced me to finally buy a Kindle.
Reading helps.
It gives me a little distance, a little perspective.
What was the point of writing all this?
I’m not entirely sure.
Maybe just this: living in Japan keeps reminding me that I’m expected to be an adult,
but I still want to hold on to who I am.
