Dear friends,
Gotta say this is not a normal article to analyze Japan. This is an article to analyze me – Hio, and my story in Japan or a Hio in Tokyo story.

Let’s start!

Well, they say life begins at 30, or 25 or even younger. But for me, it truly began at 33, with a one way ticket on a plane headed to Tokyo. It was a reckless, perhaps even stupid-decisional-made for a man I’d fallen for at first sight. Looking back, was it worth it? Dare I say every complicated, heart-wrenching, beautiful moment of it is worthy?

I compare my story to Emily in Paris. A foreign land, a new language I had no idea to learn, a captivating love interest, an endless stream of cultural mishaps. Yes, the language barrier is very real even now, much like Emily’s early struggles to order a croissant. But while Emily’s move was a career opportunity, mine was an audacious leap of faith—a dive headfirst into the unknown for a soul-deep connection. I wasn’t just leaving Chicago for Paris, I was shedding an entire identity, a previous life, and an old self at the airport security gate. And the truth? It was an immense relief.

My motivation to learn Japanese went far beyond simply navigating daily life or to survive in Japan. Mr. Saito, the man who pulled me across my safety cocoon in Vietnam, is a single father. My desire to speak Japanese wasn’t about impressing him or impressing anyone in his social circle, it was about connecting with his son, about weaving myself into the fabric of their lives and building bridges beyond words. Each new kanji character I have learned wasn’t just a step towards fluency. Tt was a step closer to being able to say “I care about you” and “I love you even though we are not blood related” to a child who needed stability and to a family I desperately wanted to understand and be understood by.

Beyond personal reasons and motivations, my heart and soul belong to my academic researchs into Japanese culture and religion and they fueled my linguistic journey. I sought answers in the intricate philosophies of Shinto and Buddhism, hoping to understand the invisible forces that had pulled me here, that made this “unbreakable connection” Mr. Saito spoke of feel so real. Was there a spiritual explanation for this profound bond? My personal quest and my academic pursuits became inextricably linked, each enriching the other.

In Emily in Paris, Mama Sylvie once sagely declared that “the best relationships are complicated.” I used to scoff at that, wishing for an easy, straightforward love story. But you know, life is never easy and you cannot escape life and love. My journey with Mr. Saito has taught me the profound truth of her words. Our relationship has been an “on and off” crazy dance, a push and pull that often felt agonizing. Each time we tried to move on, to be seen and sensible, the universe seemed to conspire against us. The invisible red thread of fate, or unmei no akai ito as they say in Japan, felt taut, refusing to snap.

There’s a power in admitting that you can’t walk away from someone, no matter how hard you try. It’s a testament to a connection that fucks logic, a bond so deep that even attempts at separation only serve to reinforce its strength. Mr. Saito himself articulated it best, telling me that our connection simply “cannot be broken.” It’s not just shallow words that every single love bird swear and vow when love first hits them, it’s a feeling that resonates and lingers in the quiet moments, in the unspoken understandings, in the way our paths continually converge.

Yeah, that was me and that is me. I fell in love with him the moment I saw him in real life and I can’t deny it no matters how hard I’ve tried during 3 years of our on and off relationship. Leaving everything behind at 33 for a man and a new life in Japan was undeniably reckless, even foolish by conventional standards. But what I discovered wasn’t just love, I have found me-a new person with a new identity. I found a woman capable of navigating a foreign language, a complex culture, and an even more complex heart. I found resilience, a depth of empathy, and an understanding of commitment that only such a drastic leap could teach.

So, was it worth it? Absolutely. Because in this complicated, sometimes chaotic, yet ultimately unbreakable thread of fate, I didn’t just find a man. I found a life. I found a new family. And most importantly, I found a version of myself that was brave enough to risk everything for a love that refused to be conventional. And that, I believe, is the truest form of wisdom.