If I'm Not Changing, I'm Decaying

by Sara Chang ‘19, Fellow at JFOU in Machida, Japan

Every big transition in my life was precursed by adults and friends alike trying to warn me that yes, it’s going to be hard, but it will be more than worth the trouble. So of course, when I got accepted to be a Shansi Fellow, these reassurances came flooding in along with all kinds of praise for the once in a lifetime opportunity I was about to embark on. The hardest part of moving to a country where I didn’t speak the language might be exactly what you expected: the feelings of loneliness and alienation and feeling straight up dumb. I went from the independence that Oberlin College offers to being completely reliant on those around me, a feeling I’m sure no one likes.

My first six weeks as a Shansi Fellow were as you might not have expected: a blast. My first days in Japan were at the Japanese Language School (JaLS)  in Sapporo on Japan’s northern island of Hokkaido. During my language intensive, I learned Japanese basics, went on weekend excursions to lavender fields, zoos, onsen towns, festivals, and so much more. I was surrounded by English-speakers from all over the world of all ages. It was, as Ted and I affectionately called it, “summer camp for adults.” I was supremely happy and feeling extraordinarily fulfilled.

The next couple months of Japanese life was filled with anxiety and stress. I arrived in Machida immediately to housing issues, many trips to city hall, figuring how to get a gosh dang SIM card, opening a Japanese bank account (only possible thanks to Emily, my co-fellow), and mostly: loneliness. I am forever lucky to have amazing co-fellows and an incredible partner who moved with me around the world to Japan, but as someone who is extremely extroverted, having only 3 people in my life was isolating. I know this feeling is very common among post-grads: the jarring shift from having your best friends within walking distance to suddenly being oceans apart. On top of that, you have to introduce yourself to new people again and again in the hopes that you’ll find a connection as amazing as the ones you just left behind. When video-chatting both my college friends and my Shansi class, we found ourselves in the same boat in different seas of culture shock. Of course, I was warned about this. And even though I listened closely, and I’d studied abroad in China, nothing could have prepared me. Every aspect of life was five times harder and I couldn’t do 90% of it on my own. I felt so helpless and frustrated, which led to feelings of regret and resentment. Why had I done this? Why is Japan so difficult? Why I hadn’t applied to the China sites? Why didn’t I just take the MCAT and apply to med school? The growing pains seeped into every aspect of life and the feeling of helplessness grew. My puddle of self pity felt so deep I refused to try and stand up. Then, I began teaching and that made everything worse because, again, even though I was warned about how the first days of teaching would be a disaster, I still wasn’t ready for those feelings of failure.

So I went on feeling this way and asked when the days of relief would come, which I was promised would indeed arrive! I went sightseeing in Tokyo and Yokohama and went shopping to fill my free time, trying to exchange my resentment for gratitude, but alas found myself buzzing with anger. Eventually, in an attempt to make some friends, I went on MeetUp and looked for English speaking activities. I saw “English Vinyasa Yoga” in Yokohama, about an hour of travel from where I lived. I’m not an avid yogi but I will say I’d dabbled enough to know I enjoyed Vinyasa. There was an hour of yoga followed by coffee at a local cafe afterwards. I went and met the instructor, Chami, who calls herself “third culture.” She’s ethnically Japanese but was raised in Papua New Guinea in the company of many American children, so she is fluent in both Japanese and English.  She’s lived in many other countries and cities and I could go on about her forever. She values deep conversations and knows culture shock and loneliness all too well. It goes without saying that she became my first friend outside of my Obies. I began to go to class weekly and always stayed for coffee. Chami and I would discuss the in’s and out’s of life.

The third time Chami and I had coffee she said “I want to be forever changing until the day I die. Because once I stop changing I start decaying.” I think everyone has some phrase or saying that speaks to them in the right moment. You have to be looking for the solace of such a phrase, out in the middle of the ocean waiting a life raft. And for me, this is what I needed to hear in the depths of my self-made despair. While I was in pain and was frustrated at so many things in life, at the end of the day I was encountering great change. At that point, several months into my fellowship, I could take this change in stride and open my mind to the possibilities of living in Japan, or I could resist, grow stagnant, and begin to rot. After this, I was reminded of every other cliche saying that had gotten me through hard times, and felt rather silly for letting myself get so bogged down. At some point you become ready to move on and stop resenting the place you’re in. Even if all the signs and opportunities have been there all along, you have to be ready to see them, and I’d finally become ready. Here, I must acknowledge my privilege as someone who is neurotypical, and say that I am lucky the chemicals in my brain were not working against me.

Of course, around this time, things began to pick up. I got even closer with my co-fellows, school became a routine, Leah (my senior fellow) introduced Emily and me to many other buddies she’d made in her previous year, I joined a gym, got a tutee (also thanks to Leah) and things that were five times as hard before became only 2 times as hard. I learned all my students names, and some of them even came to our after-school English club and lunch-time conversation circles. I color coded my Google Calendar, went hiking, enjoyed the autumn leaves, and even made new friends of my own. Ernie, Leah and I went to Korea and made plans to explore other countries. Visitors who had planned their visits months before arrived, and I got to show them the beautiful disaster that is my life thus far in Japan. Before I knew it, my first semester was over. Being swept up in the madness always made time fly at Oberlin, and I didn’t expect to find myself in such a lovely situation. I was too busy and enchanted with life to stew in my resentment as I had in those late summer days.

Two more cliches summarize my experience with getting over culture shock: “your life begins at the end of your comfort zone” and “trust the process”.  When you get to your site and are uncomfortable, that’s probably a good thing. It means you’re growing, and odds are you applied to Shansi because you want to expand. Growth takes time, hard work and patience. Trust the discomfort, but don’t make it your point of focus, because then you won’t change. Eventually the clouds will lift, and maybe one day you’ll realize they’ve dissipated altogether. The end of every big struggle I’ve made it through came when I wasn’t looking and was focusing on those around me, my students, my friends, my tutees, my teachers, my family. This is more or less to say that my way out was through finding community and, and through community I found gratitude. A year from now I believe I’ll look back and realize how much growing I’ve done since this moment, because now I refuse to decay. 

On the Shansi Fellowship, in our winter term training we write ourselves a letter that will be mailed to us once we’re on our fellowship. I just received mine a year later, and while I haven’t achieved most of the goals I wrote about, they seem much more manageable now. In it I wrote “remember that you gotta let the seeds you planted grow.” I feel like I’ve successfully put down some roots and, hopefully, I’ve broken through the soil.