Chapter 6: Letting go of connections I made abroad

While in Japan, I made friends with the daughter of one of the assistant Japanese teachers at the school where I worked. She was a young Japanese lady in her 20s with decent English. She spoke with an American accent, and we quickly developed a friendship. While I helped her with her English, she taught me much about Japanese culture. We often spent time together, shopping in Tokyo, hanging out, or grabbing food. She even introduced me to some great sushi and ramen spots. We always had a good time together. I felt more integrated with Japanese culture through her kindness and willingness to teach me everything she knew about Japanese culture.

One week, she invited me to a bar with some Japanese friends. Being a social butterfly and keen to meet locals, I gladly said, 'hai!'. The evening began with dinner at an izakaya with her friend, who spoke minimal English. But, despite the language barrier, we had great conversations.

Afterwards, around 9 p.m., we headed to a small bar with no name. Like many Japanese izakayas and bars, it was cramped and dimly lit, with only a few seats or chairs because they were taken. Most of the time, strangers have to sit close together in Tokyo. The bar buzzed with locals and foreigners, creating a lively and cosy atmosphere.

As we got in, I noticed a young, handsome guy in the corner of the room. He was clearly another foreigner. He had a warm, childish smile, light brown eyes, and short hair. We briefly locked eyes but didn't speak. He was with his friends, and I was with mine.

We didn't speak to each other for the next couple of hours. I was distracted by the conversations my friend and the people she introduced me to were having. Whenever I was with Japanese friends, I kept discussions simple and basic. They usually revolved around cultural differences, London life, and teaching in Japan. I kept the tone light and respectful. I wanted to be mindful of the reserved nature of Japanese people compared to my upbringing in London, where the talk was often more direct or, dare I say, racy.

As the night went on, the time was close to 11:45 p.m. In Japan, public transport shuts down early, around midnight, meaning paying for expensive taxis is the only way to get home. People in the bar began preparing to leave. I had just finished my drink when, unexpectedly, the guy with the beautiful brown eyes approached me. He asked me, without introducing himself, "Would you like to come home with me?"

I looked at him right in the eyes and smiled. I replied, "Sure." I probably would have said no if he had asked me as soon as he saw me. But I suppose we were just as curious as each other. What was our story? How did we find ourselves in the middle of a bar in Tokyo?

This was the first time we had spoken. We didn't know each other's names, backgrounds, or anything else. He didn't know if I was dangerous, nor did I know if he was a murderer. Yet, something about the spontaneity felt right.

As we left, my friend looked at me in shock and concern. I finally asked his name at the train station, and he asked for mine. My friend, still confused, pulled me aside to express her worries. She explained how unusual it was for strangers to go home together so casually in Japan. "It's just not something we do," she said. Despite her hesitation, she kindly asked me to text her the next day to confirm I was safe.

The guy, let's call him J, turned out to be kind and genuine. He wasn't dangerous at all. In fact, he became my boyfriend for the next month. We spent time together almost daily, texting and calling each other frequently.

However, like many expats and travellers, our path together eventually ended. J had plans to travel to Thailand, and I intended to stay in Japan as an English assistant teacher.

As an expat, this experience taught me a lot about making connections abroad and how impermanent relationships can become. With this type of living, I often met people who'd leave a meaningful impact on my life for a brief chapter, but sadly, they weren't always meant to stay.

Letting go was difficult for me at first, but it became an important lesson in appreciating the beauty of temporary connections. Connections, long or short, are meaningful. Don't let anyone make you think otherwise—I know!

I also learned that cultural norms shape our communication style and ways of interacting with others. What seemed like a normal, spontaneous decision to me was shocking in the context of Japanese culture. Navigating these differences was part of the growth I experienced while living abroad. It was a hard pill to swallow but an invaluable one nonetheless.

Please note: Names and places have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals and organisations