We plan; [Life] laughs

By Sara Chang ‘19, JFOU Fellow 2019-2021

A year ago, I was finalizing my itinerary for my Big Southeast Asia Adventure. I was going to travel around Vietnam, Thailand, Indonesia, and Singapore; family and friends were lined up to accompany me for different legs of the trip. All the hostels were booked, the flights were purchased, and the virus was a distant threat. I planned; Life laughed.

Of course, all of my travel plans were thwarted. Come mid-February, nearly all my flights had been cancelled and Asia was seemingly on fire with the virus. With so many unknowns, I decided a safer route was to visit home for a couple of weeks. After a quick trip to see family, I’d be back in Japan, shifting my travel itinerary to August when our other break was scheduled and the virus would be “over.”

Hakone Shrine and Mt. Fuji in January 2020

Back in the states in my childhood bedroom, I woke up to a mandatory evacuation notice. All Shansi Fellows were required to leave their sites. What did it mean for me? I was home, but my partner was still in Tokyo studying Japanese. When was the soonest I could go back? What about my return flight?  Why did I decide to leave my LAPTOP in JAPAN? What about my whole, fragile life I’d built?

In my previous narrative, I talked about how fragile my little Japan life felt after my first eight months. I’d finally begun to unclench my jaw and breathe, beginning to truly enjoy my Shansi experience. I had a few good friends. I had a weekly routine. I knew enough Japanese to order from my favorite restaurants. I had gotten to travel a bit within Japan, from the snowy countryside to shrine speckled Kyoto. I had learned teaching skills I wanted to perfect with my fresh batch of students. I was “getting the hang of it” but suddenly my grip on Life was pried off.

Most of my questions could not be answered, there were too many unknowns. A plan to return by the end of the month was pushed back to May, then August. Everything hung in a cloud of “maybe’s” and “I’m-not-sure’s”. Japan closed its borders, Clorox wipes sold out. I couldn’t even try to plan, Life was just laughing.

Perhaps not shocking at all: most of my photos from over the pandemic are of my sister’s

During quarantine I baked bread with my mom and played pickleball (highly recommended) with my dad and neighborhood friends. My partner came home from Japan and joined me in this weird life-suspension, where everything we’d hoped for our future -- the teaching, the learning, the travel and new experiences -- was put on pause.

I am lucky because J.F. Oberlin was able to transfer their semester online. They worked with me to assure I got morning teaching slots in Japan, so I would be teaching from 7:50-11:20PM rather than 12:10-3:40AM. They shipped my textbooks for the classes I would be teaching, I helped convert textbooks to different formats. It was chaotic, to say the least, but I got to know my students surprisingly well. Even though I was teaching these new students online, I felt the connection and camaraderie as we dove headfirst into the unknowns of online English class. They were patient and kind throughout the whole year.

Truthfully, I have not processed much of the last year, as I’m sure is similar for most people. There was much social unrest, much learning and unlearning to be done, and still more questions than answers. What I can say is that knowing what came next each day (more or less) was very nice. In a world choked with uncertainty, I would wake up in my or Ernie’s home, fill my day with reading and pickleball and then teach at night. I felt as if I knew what was coming next, but of course, I didn’t.

The dog and cat fighting over my partner, Ernie

Ernie, my family, and me

Come August, I found out that Japan was allowing visa holders to re-enter. My gut reaction was “oh no.” I had become acclimated to my life. It was not ideal, but it had become familiar, comfortable. I was not ready to leave. Life had a good chuckle at me by giving me a choice, because it is so much easier when you have to be somewhere. The “what if’s” flooded in again. What if they close the borders again? What if my partner can’t come back to Japan for many months? What if I get covid in Japan? What if I stay in my comfort zone and regret it? What if I go back and regret it?

Eventually, my co-fellow, Emily, and I talked. She was going back. Her courageous choice helped me choose to go back myself. There is only so much time you can avoid a decision before it becomes a missed opportunity.

An incredible amount of work by JFO and Shansi went into our return, but we got it done. Two weeks before my departure, full panic set in. A pit grew in my stomach, which seemed to signal that this was a decision I would regret. I’d be alone in Japan without my partner and family and be lonely all the time. Ted calmly assured me that these feelings are normal and happened to him on his journeys back and forth from India. The pit shrunk, but Life’s laughter rang in my ears. It seemed like every decision I’d made had been the wrong one, what made this (huge) one any different?

Once I’d calmed down and cried out all my tears and said goodbye to my loved ones, I boarded my plane on November 7th, still not knowing who was president and not knowing if the roots I’d put down would still be there once I got “home.” A friend picked me up from the airport and drove me back to Machida, catching me up on what I’d missed in my 9 months away. I found that my roots, while not well nurtured, were still there to ground me.

I came back to my dusty and moldy apartment and Life giggled, because how do you not take mold as a bad sign? During my two-week quarantine I cleaned and FaceTimed my sorrows away and steeled myself for the ups and downs to come. After quarantine, Emily and I found routines that worked for us once again, teaching online in the morning, walking in the afternoon, and watching TV together in the evening. We began to plan a trip together on Kyushu, a southern island in Japan.

My friend, Miranda, picked me up from the airport. We hiked Mt. Takao 2 weeks later

Before I’d left the U.S., I asked a childhood friend, Kira, who is teaching with the JET program, if I could come visit her over her winter break. She generously said yes, and the second weekend of December, I made my way up to Daisen, Akita. The first snowfall of the year started in tandem with my arrival and has not yet stopped as I write this in January. 

My first week there, I taught under her kotatsu table (a table with a heater built in to the bottom) as she went to work. When we were both officially on vacation, we explored the Akita countryside, bathed in onsen (hot spring baths), treated ourselves to a couple nights in a ryokan (traditional Japanese inn), and went snowboarding. Kira made me delicious meals, bought me my favorite sake and made me laugh until my sides hurt. My 24th birthday was spent at the ryokan, complete with a five-course dinner, birthday cake and our own private onsen.  If Life had won a couple of rounds during my Shansi experience, this seemed like a decent consolation prize.

Kira and the first course of our five course meal at the ryokan, Natsuse Onsen Miyakowasure.

There is a famous onsen in Akita called Tsuru no yu, the Crane’s Bath. It is 400 years old and nestled in the snowy Akita mountains and is probably the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. I sat there in the warm milky water and looked up at the sky as fluffy snowflakes kissed my face and decided that this was the right decision. Back in Tokyo, my confidence in this is now unshakable and my gratitude is overwhelming. I am grateful to the many people who helped me get here, who talked me through what I could not process, who opened their home to me to show me new experiences. I may not be able to laugh back at Life, but perhaps I at least get to smile.

Me, in Tsuru no yu