No.650
I Thought I Was Chasing Success. I Was Really Chasing Safety.
In a few days, I'll turn 36!
Today, I sat in my room on a 36°C afternoon in Japan with nowhere to be, a cup of tea beside me, and a Korean drama playing in the background. Time moved slowly. I laughed at myself for finishing an entire episode only to realise it was still just after 3 p.m.
Then I cried.
Not once.
Several times.
Not because something bad had happened today, but because, for the first time, I stopped long enough to look back at the life I had spent almost twenty years building.
I Was Born Into a Story That Began Before Me
I was born in a country that had survived more than thirty years of war. Although I never experienced the war myself, my parents did, and the aftermath shaped my childhood.
We didn't grow up with abundance. Stability wasn't something people took for granted. My mother believed deeply that if I stayed, my future would be limited. She wanted me to leave—not because she wanted to lose her daughter, but because she wanted me to have opportunities she never had.
At seventeen years old, I boarded a plane to the United States alone as an exchange student.
I didn't know anyone.
I didn't know what my future would look like.
I only knew that I was leaving.
Giving Up Dreams... More Than Once
I've always loved art.
Fashion design was the first thing I chose to apply for studying. But somewhere along the way, practicality won over passion.
Growing up, I believed that "real" careers were economics, law, medicine, or anything that promised stability. Art felt like a luxury people with secure lives could afford.
I gave up my artistic dreams more than once.
Sometimes survival asks us to postpone the parts of ourselves we love most.
The UK Years
My brother had moved to the UK before me. Although he had studied Information Technology, he worked in banking because it was one of the few industries willing to sponsor visas for foreigners at the time.
He encouraged me to continue my education there.
Then the global financial crisis happened.
Lehman Brothers collapsed.
My brother lost his job and returned home to save money for my education while I stayed behind to finish two years of A Levels before earning a 2:1 degree in Media and Communications from a university in London.
When I got my results, my brother said,
"Just five more percent and you could have got a First."
He wasn't wrong.
But I had already given everything I had.
I wasn't the stereotypical student who excelled naturally at academics. I was painfully shy. Even after five years in England, I never felt confident speaking English.
Looking back, I realize I spent more time noticing the five percent I didn't achieve than celebrating everything I had.
Home Didn't Feel Like Home
After graduating, I returned home expecting familiarity.
Instead, I experienced reverse culture shock and found myself caught in family turmoil.
It reminded me of Wild Swans by Jung Chang—a story where history and family become impossible to separate.
So I left again.
Japan
Japan became the next chapter.
I completed a master's degree taught in English. Then I spent a year unsuccessfully job hunting. Then another year studying Japanese.
Eventually, I found work and moved from Tokyo to Nagoya.
The job lasted five months. Night shifts. Cold weather. Hay fever. Physical exhaustion.
I left.
Moved back to Tokyo. Lived in a bunk-bed dormitory. Borrowed a friend's laptop because mine had stopped working.
Eventually, I found a place where I could finally close the door and call a room my own.
Then life surprised me again. I nearly drowned while swimming with a friend. A week in hospital meant missing job interviews, and my work visa was due to expire only two weeks later. I packed my life into suitcases once again and flew home the day before my visa expired.
Starting Over... Again
Then COVID arrived. I worked back home. Moved cities. Continued studying Japanese on my own. Passed the JLPT N2 exam. Another opportunity appeared.
Back to Tokyo. Another company. Another visa. Another beginning.
That company lasted eleven months before it became clear it wasn't working.
Then came perhaps the hardest chapter.
I joined a tiny company run by one man who withheld my salary while keeping my passport to renew my visa.
I remember spending hours riding the Yamanote Line in circles because I didn't know what to do anymore.
Eventually, I found a way to get my passport back.
I found another job. Stayed there for two years.
When my contract ended last May, something unexpected happened.
I didn't panic.
I didn't rush.
For the first time in years, I allowed myself to breathe.
Healing Instead of Running
I had already started counselling two years earlier.
After my contract ended, instead of immediately chasing another job, I travelled.
I visited Fukushima.
I slowed down.
I began looking inward instead of constantly looking ahead.
Today, I realized something.
For almost twenty years, every major decision I made had one purpose:
Survival.
Study.
Move.
Learn another language.
Find another visa.
Find another job.
Keep going.
There was always another mountain.
Until suddenly...
There wasn't.
The Corndog I Never Forgot
One memory has stayed with me all these years.
When I was in the United States as a teenager, I was poor.
A friend was eating a corndog. She only liked the batter and left the sausage untouched.
I asked if I could have the sausage. I was hungry.
At the time, it felt embarrassing.
Today, I see it differently. That young girl taught me something I only understand now. Scarcity doesn't disappear just because life improves.
Sometimes it stays quietly inside us.
Years later, I can afford afternoon tea. I can travel. I can buy food because I enjoy it, not simply because I need it.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped eating just to survive.
I started living.
"What an Amazing Life. You're So Lucky."
Recently, I posted photos from my Fukushima trip on Instagram.
An old university housemate commented,
"What an amazing life! You are so lucky."
The younger version of me would have immediately explained myself.
I would have listed every sacrifice.
Every visa.
Every rejection.
Every struggle.
I would have wanted people to understand that none of this came easily.
Instead...
I simply pressed ❤️. And smiled.
Yes.
I am lucky.
Not because life has been easy.
Because despite everything, I am still here.
Hard work and luck are not opposites. I needed both.
What I Want Now
Something else has changed.
For years, my dreams were about education, countries, careers, and independence.
Then my niece was born.
Watching this tiny new life arrive made me realize something surprising.
Perhaps what I want now is simply marriage and children.
Not because my ambitions have become smaller.
Because they have become more personal.
For so many years, I built the conditions for a future.
Now I want to build a home :")
Turning 36
My friends keep asking what I plan to do for my birthday.
Honestly... I don't know yet.
I'm still saying goodbye to being 35.
Because 35 wasn't just another year. It was the year I finally slowed down. The year I stopped measuring my life only by degrees, jobs, visas, and achievements. The year I began understanding the person who had quietly carried all those experiences.
For the first time, I can honestly say:
I've truly made it.
Not because everything is perfect.
Not because I have all the answers.
But because I no longer wake up every day wondering how to survive.
Now, I get to wonder how I want to live.
And perhaps, after spending nearly two decades trying to build a future... I've finally come home—not to a country, but to myself.
