Exploring the Journey: My Departure from Japan After Seven Years
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I find myself on a couch that also serves as my bed, gazing at the characteristic grey sky of the Netherlands. In the distance, a housing block seems to float on the water.
The NHK news plays softly in the background.
Though I'm back in the Netherlands, Japan continues to linger in my thoughts. My enthusiasm for Japan has inspired my friends and family, with some now tuning into Japanese television daily.
It has been precisely one month since I returned to Dutch soil. I hadn't set foot back here since the pandemic began, yet it already feels familiar. After years in Japan, I anticipated some restless nights. Surprisingly, I feel peaceful and satisfied. Perhaps the sleepless nights will come later.
Upon my arrival in Kyoto for a four-month internship at the age of 22, I was completely taken aback. As the bus crossed the Kamo River, I envisioned myself enjoying picnics with friends along the banks. I was astonished as we passed through the majestic gate of the Heian Shrine, and as we turned toward Okazaki Park, the cherry blossoms were in full bloom. I clutched my suitcase tightly.
My emotions were a whirlwind. I yearned to feel settled, to stroll the streets with confidence, with the mountains and cherry blossoms as familiar as the Dutch landscapes I had known for years.
I was determined, too. This was my opportunity to get my foot in the door; perhaps I could persuade the company to hire me as a full-time employee once I graduated.
During my internship, I experienced the time of my life. My share house was situated near the renowned Philosopher’s Path, where I would often wander. I spent time with colleagues along the riverbanks, just as I had envisioned. Dressed in yukata, we enjoyed street food during the Gion festival.
On the day I graduated, the company posted a job opening. Everything seemed to align perfectly, and I was hired, promptly relocating to Kyoto.
From Hospitality to Marketing
For the first three years, I couldn't envision living anywhere else. My job as a hotel receptionist was stable (albeit stressful), and the company renewed my visa without any issues.
My daily commutes were enchanting. I cycled through the city, watching the restaurants mirrored in the Kamo River under the golden morning sun. On my way home, I navigated through Kiyamachi street, weaving past tourists, club-goers, and hosts. Lanterns lit the path as traditional and modern music floated from the bars.
Then, Covid struck.
The pandemic initially seemed to enhance my career prospects. The company had to pivot, enrolling us in programming courses. Once the IT department was established, I found myself in charge of sales and marketing.
For a time, concerns arose about potential layoffs. It was the first moment I had to contemplate alternatives to living in Japan. Since I held a work visa, a full-time job was essential for my stay.
To ease my anxiety, I rationalized that leaving wouldn't be the worst scenario. I began exploring charming villages in Europe, feeling excited about the freedom to live in the countryside without being tied to a work visa.
Ultimately, our fears of layoffs turned out to be unfounded, and the company offered us permanent contracts. My dreams of a French country life faded into the background.
Stuck in Uncertainty
As my visa expiration approached, I reached out to immigration once more. The representative casually mentioned that if I couldn't secure a job in time, I would have just one month to leave the country.
"But I've lived here for years! I would have to say goodbye to my entire social network, clear out my room, dispose of my furniture, notify my landlord, bank, city hall, pension, and tax office, and book a flight."
"Yeah, that's why we give you a month to prepare for your departure," he replied.
His words hit me like a bucket of cold water, jolting me awake. I suddenly grasped the fragility of it all.
Without a job, the life I had built over the years could vanish within a month.
My life felt suspended in limbo. With the constant threat of having to leave, I found it challenging to commit fully to anything or anyone. I held onto hope that I could find a job in time, but uncertainty loomed.
Moreover, all the bills that used to be deducted from my salary now flooded my mailbox, each one requiring a different response and overflowing with kanji.
Deciphering what they required from me became a daily struggle, and I developed a persistent fear of authorities knocking at my door because I submitted the wrong form or missed a payment.
Temporary Stability
I was still working part-time in accounting and explained my situation to the manager. He managed to arrange something with a partner company, allowing me to secure a job just in time for my visa renewal.
This was a comfortable setup. My pay wasn't substantial, but I only had to be in the office twice a week, allowing me to spend most of my time at home. I enjoyed walks along the Horikawa River before work, had time to prepare nutritious meals, and the job itself was the least stressful I had experienced so far. I witnessed the mountains transform into vibrant hues of red during my morning commutes.
For New Year’s, I participated in a mochi-making event with my sports team. This experience is said to be unique even for Japanese individuals nowadays. We gathered at the head instructor’s garage, and I had the chance to try pounding the mochi. We cheered each other on, and I felt a genuine sense of belonging. I couldn't believe my good fortune.
However, in February of last year, I received a call from the company president. They informed me that they could no longer keep me on.
Yes, I cried.
I knew this marked the beginning of the end. Although I had renewed my visa, it could be revoked if I couldn’t find another job.
The ongoing pressure was exhausting. Yet, I wasn't ready to leave just yet; I decided to seek employment in the hospitality sector again, something I could secure quickly.
Returning to Tradition
My first interview was with an overworked employee who explained that they were understaffed, and part-timers had the first pick of shifts.
"Also, you're European, and I’ve heard you have plenty of holidays. Just know you can’t expect that here, right?"
Job coaches advise against accepting a job offer out of desperation, but the urgency of my visa situation left me with limited options. I didn’t land that job, but I would have taken it.
Eventually, I accepted a position in the Geisha district. It was the most picturesque neighborhood imaginable, adorned with old teahouses and temples. I felt as though I had stepped into the world of Spirited Away. I donned a kimono, wandered through alleyways, and glided across rooms lined with tatami mats.
The locals quickly began to recognize me, and we often exchanged pleasantries as I walked to work. The guests also enjoyed seeing a foreign face in such a traditional setting. My favorite task was sweeping the entrance area, providing a moment to breathe in fresh air and escape the busyness indoors.
I soon realized how demanding the job would be. It wasn't unusual for employees to quit within the first three months. Initially, I didn't understand why, but around the two-month mark, I started to feel the toll.
We often worked six days a week, frequently skipping breaks to keep pace with the workload, leaving us on our feet for hours without time to eat. I averaged around 20,000 steps daily. While being active is beneficial, it only works if you're receiving adequate nutrition and rest.
My knees began to bruise from rubbing against the tatami, thick calluses formed on my feet, and my fingers remained perpetually swollen. Even on my days off, I felt like an elderly person. The constant pain in my knees and feet forced me to abandon my walks, and maintaining a healthy diet became nearly impossible.
A New Perspective
That comment about Europeans enjoying better working conditions echoed in my mind. Why was I enduring this?
Living in Japan sounds appealing, but if all your time is spent exhausting yourself, it simply isn’t worth it.
I could work in any European country without the stress of visa requirements. While I would be leaving my daily life in Japan behind, I would have a European salary and holidays, allowing me to visit and truly enjoy the country.
Additionally, at this point in my late twenties, after years of taking any job available to maintain my visa, I yearned for the freedom to pursue my passions. My focus was shifting from where I wanted to live to what I wanted to contribute.
After eight months of battling constant fatigue, I made the decision to quit. I realized I would rather leave Japan on my own terms than wait for another crisis to unfold. I met with friends to bid farewell and completed the necessary paperwork.
A tremendous weight lifted from my shoulders the moment I boarded the plane. I could finally just be and thoughtfully consider my options. The countdown in the back of my mind, marking the days until my visa expired, finally faded away.
If you are contemplating a move to Japan and aren’t married to a local, be prepared for the realities of a work visa. I could have discussed the 'fun' challenges, like culture shock, but that wasn't a significant issue for me.
A work visa imposes many restrictions on your life. You must remain within a specific job category, inform immigration about every job change, and they can revoke your visa even after years of residency.
Nevertheless, I wholeheartedly recommend the experience. I wouldn't trade my time in Japan for anything. I secured a job right after college, explored various sectors, and experienced the country in a way few get to.
In the end, I enjoyed all the experiences I had hoped for and more, and I look forward to sharing my best stories in future articles.
Until next time!