An Open Letter to Japan
Dear Japan,
I wasn't so sure about you. Okay...that's a lie. I was pretty sure I wanted absolutely nothing to do with you. My career was skyrocketing and, you, a meteorite dead ahead. If Alaska was Siberia, you were Mars. Strange, unchartered territory.
Alaska, the beautiful.
And we joked. Said I would be some kobe beef massager, a women's basketball player...the careers as far-fetched as the thought of calling you home.
We stepped off that plane into the arms of what would be our friends, our family. But I didn't know. It was all too much, frankly. The sun was blinding, air so thick you could drink it. How will I ever call this inhospitable planet, home?
Our first year together wasn't perfect. Far from it. You tried, really, you did. And I? I was still rereading the last chapter, savoring every word, every syllable. But you kept trying, boisterously coloring my vision with scenery fit for the likes of National Geographic. In late August, you finally broke through.
Maybe it was all the chanting, or the lights, or perhaps the chu hi, but at that festival, on that humid night, you wiggled your way into my heart. My eyes were opened, wide, to the beauty, your beauty, sitting there all along.
You gently tugged me along, showing me a whole world I had been blind to until then. You wove the right people into my life, the people willing to explore with me.
We went everywhere that year - Bali, Tokyo, Singapore, Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam. And when we weren't filling our passports, you were dazzling us with colorful autumn leaves, set against mountains and castles; pure, white snow, perfect for learning how to ski; pink showers of sweet cherry blossoms; and royal blue tides, lapping a shore littered with sand dollars and sea glass. For the first time in a long time, I was content. Happy.
But you weren't done just yet. It was just the beginning, really. Each passing day, each perfect bowl of ramen, each ohayo gozaimasu, led me further into gratitude. And we continued down the path together - Australia, Sapporo, Thailand again.
Three years later, we've come full circle. Except, this time, I'm a Martian. And you? You're...home.
My heart holds on to the belief that someday, I'll actually be ready when it's time to go. Someday...but not now. Not today.