Chapter 1: The Panic Attack

Imagine what it would be like if you found yourself on a plane with no idea why you got on. You decided to become an English teacher in Japan—a place you had only visited once, to see an ex-boyfriend. Now, you’re having a panic attack. You can’t breathe, you’re crying, sobbing, and it’s too late. You’re already looking out of the plane window; all you see are skyscrapers. It’s official, you’re landing at Narita Airport. You know this because the pilot just announced it, speaking in Japanese, and you’re about to explode. You’re holding onto the chair in front of you so tightly that your head is banging on the television screen. You have no idea what you’re doing. The person next to you probably thinks, “Why is this crazy woman acting like this?” And that was me when I arrived in Japan.

I felt sick and nauseous, and I couldn’t explain why I had left all my friends and family behind to go to this mysterious place called Japan. On the other hand, this was everything I wanted. I wanted to be in this amazing place called Japan, so why was I panicking? It was too late. The plane couldn’t turn back. We were going forward.

And there I was, at Narita Airport. Just like any other airport, the floors were spotless. The staff in uniform looked like they had just stepped out of a Thomas the Tank Engine TV ad, all in blue. 

For once, when they spoke to me, I actually understood what they were saying because I had already graduated from university and could speak Japanese, at least conversationally. I showed my passport, and bowed my head—feeling incredibly humble but also scared—but I told myself, "It's going to be okay." 

First things first, I was told by my school company that I must call them as soon as I arrived. According to the contract, I was supposed to be picked up by a car. Of course, that didn’t happen, but I didn’t know that at the time. I was only 23 and didn’t fully understand how the world worked. Instead, I was told to go to a certain station. I didn’t know how to get there, so I had to ask the station master for help. I believe I spoke in English because I was just too stressed. They told me where I needed to go. Being from London, I guessed I could navigate using the coloured lines—yellow, orange, green, blue. It’s all the same thing, right? So, I figured it out.

I couldn’t believe how attentive the Japanese men in suits were. They saw that I was carrying two large suitcases and would grab them, take them up or down the stairs, and then wait for me before they ran off. I thought, "Is this normal?" They were kind enough to lift my bags but didn’t want to have a conversation with me. Being from London, if a guy does something nice like that, I would assume he was asking for my number. But no, they literally ran away. I thought, "Okay, this must be customary." It was still strange to me, but anyway, I digress.

So, I went to the station my school told me to go to, and they told me to call them again. I did, and they told me the same thing: "Sorry, we don’t have any cars to pick you up, so please go to this next station." Once again, I had to drag my two suitcases, but the Japanese men would willingly take them up or down the stairs for me. Bearing in mind, this is Tokyo—it’s incredibly busy. There are so many people. But it’s okay. I kept going, kept my stride, trying to take everything in—the Japanese kanji signs, the people, so many Japanese and Asian people. But as someone from London, I had to accept that I wasn’t going to see as many international people—fewer white people, Muslim people, black people, Indian people. It wasn’t going to be like that.

In 2008, when I arrived, people in Japan didn’t want to speak English. They mostly wanted to speak Japanese. Thankfully, I wasn’t completely new to this. I knew I had to learn Japanese to get a visa and actually live there. And so, my story begins—learning that everything is already different as soon as I arrive.

When I got to one of the stations, I decided to grab some McDonald’s because I was getting hungry. It had already been an hour and a half of me being on trains and dragging those two massive suitcases. I deserved some food. So, I went to McDonald’s, got my meal, and took it with me on the train. As I was eating—stuffing a hamburger or chicken burger into my mouth—a Japanese woman sitting across from me couldn’t stop laughing. I thought, "Why is she laughing so hard? It’s not that funny, mate." Later, I realized, when I learned about Japanese etiquette, that you’re not supposed to eat on the train. Back in London, you can eat on the train, and no one is going to judge you. But in Japan, I was still learning the ropes. I didn’t know what I was doing, but it was okay. At least she understood that I wasn’t from her town. She laughed, and I’d rather she laugh than start yelling at me or something like that.

When I finally arrived at the station I was supposed to, I saw other foreigners, and it was obvious they were also freaking out, just like I was. I didn’t know what I was doing or where I was going, but I saw these American, Jamaican, and other foreigners, and we started talking. “Are you with Compass Schools?” “Yeah, are you with Compass Schools?” “Yeah. Where are you from?” “I’m from London.” “Where are you from?” “I’m from Wisconsin.” “Where are you from?” “I’m from Jamaica.” And that’s when we immediately bonded. We were so happy to see each other, like kids on the first day of school. We felt like we were together like we were a family.

And that is one of the most memorable experiences I have had—coming to a place where you feel like you don’t belong, and finally meeting people who share the same purpose as you, realizing you’re not so alone anymore.

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