Solitude

Living in Japan is the first time I have lived by myself.

I don't follow Superman, but I do know he has a fortress of solitude made of ice where he goes to be alone. In northern Japan, I found myself in my own Fortress of Solitude.

Wait, you ask. Didn't you say you're 30 years old?

Yes I am, shut up. Before this, I have lived either with my parents even if I had a job, a roommate, or someone else.

This is the first time I have been truly by myself.

That doesn't just mean cleaning, bills, shopping, and all of that, all of which are a major adjustment I'll get to later.

It means you're far away from everyone and everything you know. Way more so than moving to, say, New York or Chicago. Or to Vancouver if you're Canadian and need a Canadian reference. Or Hotland Deserttown or whatever they have in Australia, I don't know the towns there, I literally know someone from Townsville and I'm just going to assume all places that aren't Sydney are all named like that.

This is a real map of Australia.

THE POINT BEING, it's much farther away than going to a new city, or going across the border, even.

Not only are you removed from your family, you're also removed from familiarity. The food you can buy is different, the utilities you're used to (like gyms) are different, and, obviously, biggest of all, the people speak a different language.

This makes you feel extremely isolated. Especially at first. In fact, it took almost a full year for the feeling to diminish for me, and that's only because I actively put myself out there and started looking for ways to get involved with the community.

That isolation is something most people aren't prepared for. It also makes simple things, routine things like commuting to work or grocery shopping, harder to deal with. I'm a health nut, so I went a little stir crazy trying to find nonfat yogurt, healthy fruits and vegetables and the like when I first got here. I ate a lot of chicken at home. I bought chicken here once, and it had skin on it.

That was actually a landmark moment for me. I thought I could look at something and say, oh, this is chicken, I know what this is, at least, but it wasn't the chicken I knew. It was different. And weird.

From that point forward I realized all the little things made me uncomfortable, reminding me I was on a different planet. Oh, I mean, a different country. It certainly felt like a different planet, though.

Everything came with white rice. Go to a restaurant and order a hamburger and THE HAMBURGER CAN COME WITH WHITE RICE. Oh, and it has no bun. No, the rice isn't a substitute, it's kind of just a little steak.

Rice. Rice everywhere. Always lurking behind every meal. In your other food! There is no escaping the grain!

The gym I found - which I was extremely lucky to find - is extremely expensive, chock full of really, really old people, and extremely cramped and crowded. I was used to working out in my own home. The claustrophobia in that place nearly suffocated me at first.

Four months into my time at the gym, in the dead of a snowstorm, an attendant stopped me on my way out to lecture me about the need for indoor shoes. "Here at this club, we have certain rules, certain ways of doing things, and you need these shoes for this reason and those shoes for that reason, and-" and it continued, in my gym clothes, in that whirling snowstorm, as I was covered in sweat and freezing and trying to apologize in my broken Japanese.

The need to bring indoor shoes was frustrating and extraneous to me at the time, and made me even more uncomfortable going there.

I won't lie. A big part of the reason I wanted to go home so badly back then was to get out of this bizarre place and go back to the things and rules and comforts I knew and grew up with.

But you know, you get used to it after a while. It's a bit like being born again. All it takes is time and experience. After a while, you learn which chicken doesn't have skin on it, what yogurt is nonfat. You find new things that you enjoy if you're willing to be a little adventurous (which I hope anyone who applies for JET is). I found out I like kimchi and natto. Now I eat them all the time. Who woulda thought?

The other people at the gym don't bother me anymore. They're just background noise. Bringing shoes is a hassle, but I understand the reasoning. They just want to keep it clean inside.

Doing all of the chores alone sucks. Doing chores period sucks, and it always will, no matter how old you get or how many people you live with. But being the sole being responsible for everything at all times wears on you if you're not used to it, and I assume it would even more so for someone not used to working full time as well, like many JETs are. It seems like every time you finish something, you have to do it again. Vacuum, dishes, laundry, garbage, vacuum, garbage, laundry, dishes, dishes, laundry, vacuum. Forever. FOR ETERNITY

I also fractured my arm when I first got here and had 300% more difficulty doing all of those things than most people for a while. But that's just me.

But you get used to chores too. Routine helps make any unpleasant task easier. I do most of those things without thinking too much about it, now, just because I'm used to it. This sounds like something you'd tell a 12 year old, not a 20-something or 30-something, but trust me, between culture shock, work, and everything else you're dealing with when you first get here, the chores bite at you like an incessant mosquito.

Experience and routine are your bug spray. Or they were mine, at least.

Right. Isolation. Solitude. The point of this post.

Dealing with all of these things makes you feel very alone at first. So alone that it's frightening. But it does go away, after a while. At least to a significant enough degree that it's no longer debilitating or scary like it was at first.

You never stop missing your home. That's true of everyone, everywhere, at any time. That lingering homesickness never goes away.

I feel very blessed to live in a world with Skype and social media, where home feels distant, but still connected. Staying in touch with friends and family has been essential to helping me survive here.

I just came home from winter break. Two weeks back with all the things I missed and knew and wanted. I'm still alone here, in my tiny little apartment. But it's not so bad. I didn't just get used to it. It kind of became a second home to me.

Culture shock can be defeated. Solitude can be defeated. But I'll always be an American, even if the USA blows up tomorrow and ceases to exist. In fact, I never felt American until I moved here. Now I feel disturbingly American, even compared to Canadians, who are quiet(er) and friendly and gentle by comparison.

Solitude, culture shock, and overcoming them can help you realize who you are, who matters to you, what matters to you.

It's an eye opening experience.