Sayonara, Nihon

これは最後のブログポスト、読者。
This is my final blog post, readers.

Four and a half months. Only. Just. Barely enough time to satisfy my taste for adventure in Tokyo and beyond. For some, studying abroad is a time for stepping outside of oneself, meeting new people, speaking another language, experiencing a different culture, and getting lost for the purpose of finding one's way. For me, all of these reasons led me to branch out of my Americanized bubble and travel to a place that tested me in every way.

Mentally

I look back to my first few weeks in Japan. A timid, twenty-year-old in one of the busiest cities in the world. Navigating with my brushed-up Japanese, I discovered how exhausted one feels after finding their way one step, or one word, at a time. I had never been in a situation where the first brain-puzzler was not how to get from point A to point B but how to formulate the question itself in Japanese. I became ignorant of time in order to give my mind as much room to figure out a Kanji or a train station attendant's guidance. Time, though, gradually earned its place back in my life. After a month, I had already found my way among Japanese society. Thank you to the taxi driver who drove me all around the city on my first day in Tokyo. He listened to my broken Japanese and helped me track down my apartment successfully. Thank you to all the strangers who kindly directed me towards my numerous destinations. Thank you to my roommates who put up with my "calling the police" scare and other fiascos. Thank you to my friends who love me for me and my super McKenna-isms.

Physically

From the beginning, I knew that I was entering a high-stress situation. The fifty-paged manual and the lunch-hour presentation on study abroad emphasized the words "culture shock" to the point that I was overly prepared. Still, stress and I don't get along, so I immediately began to explore possible running routes around my neighborhood upon arrival. Running has always served as my "me time," so to speak. In Japan, it connected me to the culture and its people. Through a runner's eyes, the world sharpens while at the same time it blurs together. Nature--the falling petals of cherry blossoms, the splash of rain puddles, the pigment of painted butterflies, the hum of cicadas--sharpened. The people--the businessmen and women in heavy stride, the shopkeepers shouting "welcome," the uniform-clad school girls giggling--blurred. The role of runner allowed me to escape the role of obvious outsider. I caught glimpses of stares but only glimpses. Not until I met other runners on the same path did I regain visibility, true visibility. Head nods and smiles. Acceptance.

Spiritually

On my last day in Japan, my mom and I spent the afternoon in Yokohama. I saved my favorite place near Tokyo for last. While just an ordinary day for most, this day meant returning soon to my old friend, the States, and leaving my new friend, Japan, behind. I chose Yokohama for it was here that I first ventured outside of Tokyo, and it was here that I first witnessed a part of Japan that reminded me of home. Yokohama's bay view mirrors that of San Francisco. Children and families picnic and play games in Yamashita Park with the Yokohama Bay Bridge standing in the background and complementing the beauty of the scenery. The bluish, gray water laps against the rocks. White jellyfish and flying fish appear. It is here where I spread some of my dad's ashes. It is because of him that I felt confident in taking this trip abroad. It is because of him that I found my way among Tokyo's turmoil. My dad taught me how to get lost and find your way again. So many of our family trips were spent wondering where he was. I now realize that he was out finding stories to share. So am I.