I guess it’s still a little early for this, given that my teaching program contract doesn’t end for another four months — but I’m sure that those four months will fly by much faster than I can fathom. This thought then kickstarts my brain into an anxiety spiral of questions surrounding what’s coming after my program ends (grad school or a job?, in Japan or the U.S.?) and all the things I have to prepare to get there (finding a new place to live, changing my visa status, packing and moving). This then leaves me substantially overwhelmed and stressed, and I always have the fleeting thought that maybe I should have signed on for a third year of teaching just to avoid said overwhelm and stress (which goes away almost as quickly as it arrives).

Because at the end of the day, this job and this chapter of life was never one that was meant to be permanent — for me or frankly, for anyone who chooses to do it. My teaching program has a tenure limit of five years, and with little to no opportunities for career advancement as an assistant language teacher (ALT) anyway, I’m not sure why anyone would want to stay in this job any longer.

Recently, multiple ALT friends of mine have ended their contracts and gotten new jobs, hitting me with the reality that will be mine too in a few months. But despite how often I say I don’t want to be an ALT anymore and how excited I am for my contract to end in August, I’ve been getting pretty nostalgic about saying goodbye to all of it.

Maybe it’s just a symptom of finally being settled in a place and a job long enough to feel a sense of security and familiarity within it, or maybe it’s the realization that Ibaraki actually isn’t the worst place in the world to live when you make friends and stop leaving town every weekend, but there have been a few little moments I’ve had over the past few months that, taken in culmination, will probably make leaving this place and this job a lot harder than I thought it would be.

I think about the time my coworker Lauren and I got dinner after work one day because the Coco’s family restaurant in our town was selling churros as a White Day special dessert menu. While we were eating, one of the English team teachers that we both work with walked into the restaurant with his wife and two young kids, and before they left, he came over with his family and brought us desserts (mont blanc ice creams!) he had bought for us. His wife repeated “thank you” over and over, which I would later learn from my team teacher was her way of trying to say, “Thank you for taking care of my husband at work.”

I think about the end of year 飲み会 (nomikai, or drinking party) one of my schools held to celebrate the end of the school year. I drank way more sake than I’d ever had before (because apparently, everyone is very excited when the foreigner drinks sake and suddenly, everyone wants to かんぱい with the foreigner too), my vice principal started giving me kanji reading quizzes from the sake bottles and chopstick wrappers sitting on our table, and there was a lot more singing than I was anticipating.

I think about how I started playing Pikmin Bloom about a month ago after seeing another of my English team teachers play it at her desk everyday at school. When I told her I started playing too, we immediately exchanged IDs and she invites me on step and flower-planting challenges and to battle mushrooms with her everyday. Even though I’ve switched schools for the new school year, she told me that we can still keep in touch via mushrooms.

Around this time last year, I wrote a blog post about the beginning of the new school year in Japan and how I was overwhelmed by my work life changing so completely so abruptly. But this year, even that change has become something reassuring — I returned to the same schedule I had for this semester last year, and one of my current English team teachers is also moving to a new school with me.

I went to that school’s nomikai last week and was met with so many “Kacie!”s and “久しぶり〜”s (hisashiburi, meaning long time no see) that I wasn’t really expecting. Honestly, I get a lot of anxiety before going to nomikais — I think socializing completely in Japanese in a weird work-personal hybrid environment is a lot to ask of any foreigner — but I’m really glad I went to this one. Sometimes, the ALT job can be one that is a little isolating, given the fact that we’re not fully integrated into our schools’ staffroom communities sometimes and the inherent language barrier, but I felt really welcomed at this one, making me even more excited about returning to this school and starting this new year off on a good foot (I suppose that is the point of welcome parties but clearly this one did its job for me).

I recently learned a new phrase in Japanese — 小確幸, read as "shoukakkou,” — which translates to “small but certain happiness.” There’s a similar word in Korean with the same meaning, read as 소환행 (sohwakhaeng), that I learned because Seungmin from Stray Kids used to call his live streams “Seungmin’s Small but Certain Happinesses.” It refers to the idea that happiness lies in certainty and everyday moments, rather than just big achievements.

At the nomikai, my English team teacher gave me a small “thank you for last year/new school year” gift — a bundle of goods that I realized reflected so many of the things we had talked about while working together last year, like a book clip for my Japanese textbook after I commented on how useful hers looked, a set of hamster character stickers that looked just like the hamster keychain on my school bag, a light blue hand towel because she knows I like light blue. Each item became a tangible representation of the idea that I now know is true — that I can find happinesses everywhere: in every in-between class conversation, in every Pikmin Bloom step challenge, in every Coco’s mont blanc ice cream.

After the nomikai ended, I actually met up with a friend in Tokyo and went clubbing before heading back on the first train a few hours later. As I began the lethargic, sleep-deprived walk back to my apartment from the train station, I ran into two of my former students who were clearly about to go on a date (they were also wearing the most adorable matching sweatshirts), and the shocked, slightly embarrassed looks on their faces became the latest — but definitely not the last — of my smallest, but most certain, happinesses.

Outside of all the little things that have colored my ALT life in my small town, I did so many other wonderful fun things over the past month that I thought it would be a shame not to share.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, I went to Seoul for ZB1’s final concerts in mid-March! If you are unfamiliar with ZB1, please refer to my post from last February, although I’m sure at this point, no one who reads this blog regularly is unfamiliar LOL. It was a perfect concert because they were, and will always be, perfect as nine <3.

It was also so wonderful to continue my unofficial tradition of meeting up with my friend Lillian at ZB1 events in Seoul! We finally took another Korean photo booth picture after forever, and even if it’s no longer at a ZB1 concert, I’m excited to meet up with her sometime again soon (maybe next time, it’ll be at an And2ble concert…?)

A few days after returning from Seoul, I boarded an 11-hour night bus from Tokyo to Hiroshima to visit my family. It took me over a year and a half of living in Japan to make the trip, but I told myself that going to Hiroshima and visiting my relatives was something I needed to do before my teaching contract expired.

I had only visited Hiroshima once before when I was in middle school. Obviously, my perception of myself and my Japanese ethnic background has changed a lot since then, so it only felt fitting to make the trip again, given all of the reflecting about my Japanese American identity that I’ve been doing since I moved here.

Before last month, I had only met Terumi in person once. Even now, I can’t tell you exactly how we’re related (I think she’s my grandma’s cousin’s wife…maybe?). However, she accepted me and my broken Japanese with no hesitation for the day I spent with her, fielding my ever-changing plans and late communication to pick me up bright and early from the bus terminal when I arrived at 8 a.m.

She and Keiko took me to the area around her house, and on the car ride, she pointed out places where my great-grandmother’s sisters used to go to school and play when they were younger. In a Komeda Coffee, she and another relative showed me albums filled with old photos of my grandparents and older relatives. Almost a year after my grandmother passed away, I was surprised to find myself in a new situation where I felt so close to her again.

The feeling multiplied with every meal I shared with Terumi and whatever new guest she invited for that meal — Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki with her friend Takako (a lady Terumi described as 賑やか, read as nigiyaka, meaning lively or thriving) that reminded me so much of my grandmother, and kamameshi with her self-proclaimed best friend Yoshiko and my own friend Sydney who joined us later in the day.

Although it was just for one day and I have no idea when I’ll be able to visit Hiroshima next, I think this side quest was one of the most valuable ones I’ll do during my time on my teaching program. When I was younger, I used to always wonder what it would be like if I grew up in Japan, or whether there was an alternate version of me who did. I used to wonder what my life would have been like, or who I would’ve become. And in Hiroshima last month, I finally feel like I found a little more of her.

After Hiroshima, Sydney and I spent the next day and a half in Kobe, a port city located about 30 minutes from Osaka. Admittedly a pretty random travel destination, both Sydney and I had never been to Kobe before, and it’s always been on my Japan bucket list because one of my favorite K-pop idols (Yoshi from Treasure <3) is from there.

Without doing much research beforehand, Sydney and I went on a long walk throughout the city, stopping by Kobe’s Chinatown, Ikuta Shrine, Kobe Port Tower and the Nunobiki Herb Gardens, before eating Kobe beef — our one big bucket list item. Sydney found a place near Sannomiya Station called Hishimekiya, and it was really easy to make a same-day reservation on Hot Pepper. We had a course menu that was not only filling, but offered a variety of meats and flavors and was sooooooo delicious — I honestly think it was some of the best beef I’ve had ever. If you ever find yourself in Kobe, I definitely recommend it!

And the week after that, I traveled back to Tokyo to meet up with my parents who were back in Japan for the third time since I moved here. I often joke with my friends that my parents are always in Japan, but at this rate, they should probably just move here too LOL. This time, I took them for their first ever Torikizoku, joined them at a dinner with my mom’s homestay family in Saitama, and did my first hanami this season with them in Ueno Park.

Here’s to more — both big and small — moments for the next few months I’ll spend as an English teacher in Japan! I know I’ll savor every last bit of it.

My work days have been dragging on seemingly longer than they already do, the shit I’ve accumulated in my apartment has piled up more and more, the combination of cold weather and the beginnings of hay fever have stuffed up my nose and turned my eyes itchy and red, the nights I’ve been going out drinking have all ended with me puking, and a chunk of the money I’ve been saving for my move has now been reallocated to pay an extremely unlucky traffic ticket (which was completely my fault, but still).

It’s a little annoying, considering that it’s already almost the middle of March and spring is almost here. I wrote about this on my blog a few months ago, but moving to Japan has really changed my perspective of the seasons and their changes in my everyday life.

The transition from winter to spring feels like an especially big one here, given how much Japan loves spring — hanami picnics begin immediately once the flowers bloom and the weather is just bearable enough to sit outside in, the annual sakura forecast and its corresponding app have tracked peak blossoms around the country for multiple years, and sakura-related seasonal merchandise is released in every form imaginable (I was pleasantly surprised to receive my drive-thru McDonald’s order in a sakura-printed paper bag last week).

It’s really begun to feel like spring to me lately too, despite the wind chill that still hasn’t fully gone away, the fact that wearing multiple layers of clothing is still mandatory, and the threat of snowfall in my city tomorrow morning — which all serve as small reminders that the darkness of my winter is still bleeding into the beginnings of my spring.

I’ve been putting a lot of thought into how I can stop feeling this way over the past few weeks, but I’d be lying if I said that I’ve magically begun feeling better now that the seasons have begun to change. To put it simply, I think this has been my longest, coldest winter ever — so long that when I get really deep in the trenches about it, I wonder if it’ll ever actually end.

But another thing that I’ve realized while living in Japan over the course of a year, and as a witness to a full cycle of seasons, is that nothing is permanent. I also wrote about this on my blog last year (as you can see, everything is cyclical), and in response, I received a comment referencing わびさび (wabi-sabi).

I won’t lie — I’ve struggled a lot with how to write about how I’ve been doing lately in a way that isn’t fatalistic or overly negative, yet properly acknowledges both the breadth and depth of all of my feelings. As I’ve sat down and tried to write this post for over a week now, I’ve decided that wabi-sabi is the best way for me to describe this.

In traditional Japanese aesthetics, wabi-sabi refers to the concept of beauty in impermanence, imperfection and incompleteness. It’s best exemplified in 金継ぎ (kintsugi), a ceramics technique used in repairing broken pottery where cracks are sealed together with lacquer mixed with powdered gold, amplifying and finding beauty in the original piece’s flaws. Wabi-sabi is also prevalent in spaces likes shrines and temples, which are deemed beautiful because of their age and the visible deterioration that comes with it, or Japanese-style gardens like the 枯山水 (karesansui) style dry garden, that aim to represent nature and its ever-changing forms.

In this way, wabi-sabi permeates almost every aspect of the Japanese lifestyle and culture, with its admiration of nature and its inherent changes and emphasis on peace. One could argue that wabi-sabi is a big pillar behind the mainstream image of Japan in general, because it serves as a tenet behind many Japanese values.

Wabi-sabi is a very soothing concept for me lately — a reminder that my life is made up not just of the moments or achievements when I feel happy or successful, but also the ones where I feel sad, invisible, slow. It is all of these things taken together that make myself and my life experiences something precious, beautiful and valuable. It is all of my winters, and all of my springs.

As I’ve been reflecting while writing this, I think sometimes I’m a little unrealistic with myself. Sometimes, especially in the first few months of 2026, a year I know is one that will bring really big changes to my life, I’ve found myself thinking that I should be happy and in control all the time.

But I know that’s not possible — for me, or for anyone. Our lives are underscored by an eternal lack of permanence that is nothing if not beautiful. That’s what keeps us alive.

As we move further into spring, I guess what I’ve realized is that my spring this year might be tinged a little blue, as I pull myself out of this slump and climb up into the next peak of my life. This spring won’t be perfectly pink, but neither was the one before, and neither is the one after.

And I see wabi-sabi everywhere now — in my students who are graduating tomorrow (wow!) and the hopes and dreams they have for their futures in high school, in the bare trees I saw on my walk along the Meguro River that will blossom in a few weeks, but perhaps most of all, in myself.

If you’ve read up until this point, thank you so much for the read. I want you to know that I love and support you — the person reading this post — in all of your forms, across all of your seasons. There is wabi-sabi in you too.

For those who are unfamiliar, I’ll give a quick explanation. ZB1 was formed on an audition show three years ago called Boys Planet, which invited K-pop trainees from various entertainment companies to compete for one of nine spots in the show’s ultimate fan-voted debut group. This group — which consists of Hanbin, Jiwoong, Hao, Matthew, Taerae, Ricky, Gyuvin (<3), Gunwook and Yujin — is operating under a contract that was set to last for 2.5 years, after which the members of the group will each return to their respective entertainment companies (or whatever they decide is the best next step for their career).

ZB1’s contract is now set to expire in a little over one month.

The limited nature of ZB1 was never a secret, and it’s also not one that’s unique to them — contract groups from audition programs are not a new thing (IOI, Wanna One, IZ*ONE and X1 were all project groups formed through Mnet’s Produce series, before it was cancelled due to rigging). In fact, creating groups from shows that are only active for a limited amount of time is not only a very smart business move (the group is guaranteed fans because it was essentially “created” by them through votes, and limiting their activities to a certain amount of time fosters a sense of urgency around buying their products or attending their tours), but it also aligns with concepts of youth and impermanence that permeate the K-pop industry.

For ZB1 in particular, the fact that their activity period is limited informed much of the music they created. A song on their first album, “Our Season,” references a season that belongs to them and their fans that is more than the four that already exist. In “Eternity,” the last track on their fourth album, they sing about wanting to believe in forever with their fans and that the memories they’ve created together will never fade. And in “Blue,” the title track of their fifth album, the lyrics read, “We’ll be together till the end of the world / Baby, what if there is a way?”

For a lot of K-pop fans, ZB1’s eventual disbandment is something that deterred them from following the group very closely. I actually have quite a few friends who have told me explicitly that disbandment is why they don’t want to get into ZB1. Honestly, maybe they were onto something, because now that ZB1’s last day is getting closer, I can’t help but think about it almost all the time.

I actually didn’t watch Boys Planet when it was airing live, and I had virtually no interest in ZB1 when they actually debuted (I still remember Kolby asking me if I watched their first music video the day it came out, to which I responded a flat “no”). I don’t really know why I eventually began to watch their contents and listen to their music, but I do remember that it aligned with my move back home after my summer internship after graduating from college.

Those first few months back home sucked. I remember feeling sad that my post-grad life wasn’t what I had originally envisioned (a cushy job at a fancy company living on the mainland), feeling frustrated that my job search wasn’t leading anywhere, and frankly, feeling lonely because most of my close friends still lived in L.A.

At first, ZB1 was just a new outlet I used to cope. Even from when I first started stanning K-pop groups in high school, I’ve always thought that K-pop is a fun hobby because it’s so separate from my reality — watching these dancing idols perform upbeat songs about believing in yourself or true love or some other BS, or videos where they play variety show games or travel around the world always made me smile and distracted me from the tangible problems or struggles I was facing in my everyday life.

A few months after moving home, I still hated living and working there, so I took two weeks of unpaid leave and spontaneously went to Japan to go to ZB1’s Japan fan concert. It was my very first time ever seeing ZB1 perform live, and I was very lucky to be placed in a seat in the second row from the stage (seats at Japan concerts are randomly assigned, with results usually being released between a few days and a few hours before the concert begins).

As if I wasn’t already lucky enough, during the show, we were allowed to film one song (K-pop concerts in Japan usually bar filming) while the members walked around different parts of the venue to interact with fans more closely. Because I was in the second row, I got to see five members up close — and my favorite member, Gyuvin, actually stopped in front of me, grabbed my phone out of my hand and took a selfie video on it.

My mom told me that I would never be able to top this experience with Gyuvin when I was preparing to see ZB1 for the second time at KCON LA a few months later. My friend and I got up early everyday that weekend to line up for entry into the venue to get barricade spots at the stage, and my friend even did so without me for an unconfirmed appearance at a mall 45 minutes away — where Gyuvin would stop in front of me again to sign my photo card.

A month later, I would move to Japan, which only expedited the frequency at which I was able to see and engage with ZB1. I got to attend pop-up stores and cafes, see ZB1 ads at train stations or around Tokyo, and set an unofficial goal to take photos at every one of ZB1’s panel displays at the Tower Records in Shibuya. I had an eight-month streak where I saw ZB1 perform live at least once a month, a feat unimaginable to most Americans, seeing as ZB1 has never held their own concert outside of Asia, and has only performed at events in southern California.

I saw ZB1 perform at the MAMA Awards, one of the biggest K-pop awards shows, in Osaka in 2024; went to their fan showcase for the release of their fifth album in Seoul; celebrated the second anniversary of their formation at their fan concert last April (where Jiwoong handed me a signed ball directly); got a happy birthday wish from Gyuvin when my friend went to their in-person fansign; saw them perform at multiple year-end shows in both Japan and Korea last year and the year before; and Gyuvin has spotted my signs at concerts multiple times. I’ve even met members of Hanbin and Matthew’s families multiple times.

I’ve been a fan of various things for a very long time, but I’ve never had a fan experience as lucky as the one I’ve had with ZB1. When I reflect on my time as a Zerose (ZB1’s fandom name), especially the portion of which I spent living in Japan, I can’t help but feel extremely grateful for all of the happy memories I’ve gotten to make because I was their fan. I think about all of the times I spent counting down the days until the next concert, all of the times I stood outside of Tower Records Shibuya trying to trade my photo cards for the Gyuvin equivalents, all of the times I pulled out my character plush dolls at restaurants and cafes with my Zerose friends.

All of those memories are all the more precious because pretty soon, I won’t be able to make any more of them.

Like I said earlier, ZB1’s eventual disbandment was never a secret, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with when it eventually became more real. I won’t get into the politics of ZB1 right now, but TLDR; their management company hasn’t been promoting them as much as most Zeroses would have wanted lately, and their final “special” album has no promotions at all. It feels like a half-hearted goodbye, rather than the one that ZB1 truly deserves.

The company itself hasn’t even confirmed that ZB1 isn’t renewing their contracts, although it’s not a question anymore given what the members have been saying, and the lyrics — “Even our final page for now might begin a new story for us” and “Will you remember us just like a miracle?” — and concept of their final album — graduation.

I’ll be honest and say that I’ve been crashing out for weeks about ZB1 disbanding. Like I said and I’m sure you can infer, ZB1 has become a really big part of my life as following them has become one of my favorite hobbies. It’s more difficult to believe than anything — those two and a half years they were promised felt so long at the beginning of it, but I didn’t realize that it would pass by so quickly. It’s hard for me to imagine a time where the ZB1 members don’t interact with each other anymore because they won’t be in the same groups, or where ZB1’s social media profiles just die because they won’t be active anymore.

In a very meta way, they’re a really good metaphor for their entire concept. When all of their music has always been about living in the moment and fate and yearning for more time, it feels especially real to listen to when that’s what’s happening in real life too.

I mentioned this earlier, but I got into ZB1 around the time that I was figuring out what was going on in my own life after graduating from college. I felt very lost in those first few months living back at home, and ZB1 was a really wonderful comfort then. As I continued to live my life and support ZB1 afterward, they became a source of joy as I established my post-grad life for the first year in Hawaii, until now in Japan.

Actually, while it’s quite embarrassing to say, the biggest reason that I decided to renew my teaching contract in December 2024 was because I wanted to spend the rest of ZB1’s activity period in Japan so I could see them as much as possible before disbandment.

Throughout the second year of my contract, I got to do so many things — both ZB1 and non-ZB1 related — that shaped my entire experience living in Ibaraki as an assistant English teacher. I truly believe that if I had left Japan after just one year, I would have missed out on a lot of formative experiences that truly defined my time here. I’ve been considering staying in Japan even longer, and if I do, the real root of why is because I liked ZB1.

It would be an understatement to say that ZB1 changed my life.

So in a way, the goodbye I’m about to say in a little over a month doesn’t feel like just a goodbye to a K-pop group. It feels like a goodbye to the last chapter of my own youth — the one where I moved abroad and learned and did new things I could’ve never learned or done anywhere else. It even aligns with the end of my teaching contract, which feels like the last step before whatever comes next for me in my adult life.

I think it’s human nature to be nostalgic and wistful for the past. My mom told me once that when she hears certain songs, she’s mentally transported back to the times in her life that she associates with them. In this way, ZB1 will always remind me of the blissful two years I spent living in Ibaraki, because they were one of the most defining things about it.

I have two more ZB1 concerts left — one in Kanagawa, at the same venue that I saw ZB1 at for the very first time, and one in Seoul, the day before their final concert as a group. Now that the end is in sight, I’ll cherish the last few moments that I’m lucky to spend with them.

But just like this time I’ve spent in Japan so far, ZB1 will always be a part of shaping me. And maybe it’s in my memory that they can be permanent forever.

I have too many pictures to share from all of the happy memories I’ve gotten to make with ZB1, so here are just a few more! Thank you for everything :”)

It’s also my first day back at school after I gave my Board of Education the papers that indicated that I don’t want to renew my teaching contract for another year.

While this decision probably comes as a surprise to absolutely no one, I couldn’t help but feel a little sad when I turned the forms in to my supervisor. Because no matter how much I complained about how boring and lonely my life was (is) in Ibaraki, the year and a half (and the next seven months still to go) I’ve spent here were truly significant in shaping a lot of the ways in which I’ll move about my life going forward.

The hits of sadness are small and sudden, yet sharp — when my supervisor came into the meeting room my assistant English teachers and I share on our BOE deskwarming days to ask the returning ALTs about next year’s summer adult English class, when she handed me a paper detailing information about a Zoom information session for non-recontracting participants on my program, when I made a new friend at a city New Year’s party only to tell her that I’d be moving away in a little over six months.

Everything feels a little more important when you’re about to say goodbye to it. But honestly, if I had decided to move out of my town at the end of my first contract year, I don’t know if I’d be feeling as bittersweet about all of it as I am now. I guess a big part of this is that I feel like I actually succeeded with one of my main goals of my second contract year — making my town feel more like my home. I finally found an eyelash place in Ibaraki to replace the one I was going to in Tokyo, started talking about more than just English class with my team teachers, and began actively participating in the LINE group chat I’m in with some of the other ALTs that live here instead of just lurking.

I even went to Tokyo DisneySea with two of my friends who live in my town a few weeks ago. The trip was spontaneous — planned on a whim at a cafe we were eating lunch at on one of our free days — and was just so, so fun. But more than the fact that we were at Disney, I was genuinely happy to be there with these two friends as my relationship with them has grown stronger over the past few months. For the first time, I truly felt like I was really friends with these people — not just out of convenience or proximity, but because we truly had shared values and interests.

It’s a feeling that I don’t take lightly anymore. I’ve written extensively about this here, as well as had numerous conversations with friends who I know from Hawaii or who I met in college or who live in Japan, but making and maintaining friendships is really fucking hard. It’s especially hard when you’re placed into spaces that don’t create them for you automatically — like starting a new job, moving to a city where you don’t know anyone, or teaching English in a rural prefecture that barely invites any new assistant English teachers.

Another of my goals of my second contract year was centered around this — putting in an effort to make new friends that live in Japan, rather than relying on my friends in America for all of my social interactions. And a few friend dates later, I really feel like I’ve been able to meet new friends that live just a little bit closer, like Liz, my new friend from the U.S. who’s also an ALT in rural Japan; Mika, my new friend who’s always down to yap over drinks with me (thank god); and Chitose, my new friend who’s helped me make even more.

Chitose invited me to a Christmas slumber party that she and her friend were hosting in Tokyo a few weeks ago. It happened to fall on the same day as my DisneySea trip, so although it was a bit exhausting, it was pretty convenient for me to spend just one weekend in Tokyo rather than two.

I won’t lie and say that I wasn’t nervous about going to this though. However, I told myself that this is what I needed — an opportunity to make more new friends in Japan. And the girls at the party were all so kind, so welcoming, so beautiful and so open — even though most of us had only just met that day.

It was refreshing to meet and get along with a lot of new people all at one time, especially given how difficult it is to meet any new people at all. We did a Secret Santa exchange, ate so many desserts and took the most festive photos I think I’ve taken in my entire life. I even met up with one of the girls I met at this party a few days later while we were both in Korea.

But despite how awesome it is that I have six new friends to reach out to anytime I’m in Tokyo, it’s honestly a little demoralizing that they’re all still pretty far away. At the party, we all went around and talked about where we live, and I had to drop the “I live three hours away by bus in Ibaraki” bomb that always gets the same reaction — “Wow, so far.”

This is just one of the many scenarios I’m placed in throughout my life in Japan that makes me wish I lived somewhere else — whether it be in a big city like Tokyo, or back with all of my friends in L.A.

When I’m deep in the trenches of wishing I lived somewhere else, it’s easy for me to play with the idea of just giving up on these ongoing goals of finding a home in my town and making new Japan-based friends until I move. Especially now that I’ve officially said no to recontracting, everything in my life right now feels temporary again — that there’s just seven more months on my program and then I’ll be out of my town forever, so why even try to deepen my roots here or make friends I’ll eventually just say goodbye to?

It makes me reflect on the relationships I have with all of my other friends (the ones who don’t live in Japan). I wrote in my last post about the lack of permanence that permeates the experience of living abroad as a young adult. Everything here is inherently temporary because the thought of moving back home, no matter when that is, looms in the back of your mind constantly.

But living in Hawaii was also temporary, as were my four years of college, as were many of the experiences and life stages in which I met the friends who I consider to be permanent fixtures in my life now — friends who I don’t even interact with now as often as I could or maybe should.

Why should I treat the people I meet and relationships I forge here any differently? Is it a novelty thing? A distance thing?

As we enter 2026, I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want this year to be like. Compared to last year, when living in Japan on my teaching program for the whole year shaped my intentions of unclenching and enjoying my life, this year feels like a year that will be marked by change — my teaching program will end in August, and then, I’ll be somewhere else.

But despite this big shift, I’ve decided that my New Year’s resolution this year is to continue building upon the successful goals I set for my second contract year. I want to stay present in my town, and I want to make even more new friends here, and I want to invest wholeheartedly in these relationships and experiences no matter where I land next.

And just like last, this year will fly by. I hope when I look back on it, wherever I am at the end of it, that the new relationships I’ll have embarked on and the experiences I’ll have of my rural town and the things I’ll have gained because I continued to put in effort to do so, will become the last memories I’ll cherish of the time here I’ll never forget.

Here are some photos of the winter break trip I took with Kolby to Korea! I had been looking forward to this trip for months since we decided that we’d go on it, and it was 10 days of doing my favorite things (eating, shopping and engaging in 推し活, or oshikatsu, the Japanese term for fan activities).

It was Kolby’s first time visiting Korea, so we filled the days with eating Korean food like soondubu and ttakgalbi, and Chinese food that is popular in Korea (Haidilao and Heytea are frequented by ZB1). We also went cafe hopping (Seoul’s cafe culture is top tier, and nothing will ever change my mind about this) and did some beauty services (scalp treatments and skincare analyses). And of course, we got standing pit tickets at the annual K-pop music show held every year on Christmas Day — getting a flying kiss heart from Gyuvin was truly the best Christmas gift I could’ve asked for.

It was honestly such a fun and healing way to finish the year, and I’m glad that I got to spend so much time with Kolby after so long :”) But 2026 will have no shortage of traveling and concerts either, and of course, I will detail them all here as well <3

Yesterday, the temperature fell below 0 degrees Celsius (32 degrees Fahrenheit) for the first time in my town this season. I thought, “Wow, I can’t wait until it gets warm again” (a thought that will recur in my brain until April), which confirmed for me that it really is winter now.

The Japanese winter-induced nostalgia has been hitting me in waves lately, and said nostalgia is probably so strong because of how much I was enjoying myself in Japan around this time last year — I got to meet up with two of my best friends from college who were traveling to Japan, I saw Stray Kids and ZB1 (twice), I took my first trip to Fukuoka to visit Sydney (my friend from the Hawaii cohort of my English teaching program), and perhaps most significantly, I was finally adjusting to my teaching job, which made the concept of recontracting with my program enticing rather than daunting.

Participants on my program can typically renew their contract for up to five years, with the paperwork to decide if you’d like to renew typically due at the end of December. For a lot of first-years, this is a pretty quick turnaround as the program begins in August, meaning you’re asked to sign on for another 12 months on the program just four months after you started. How are you supposed to know if you like it enough by then to commit to another whole year?

But for me, last year’s recontracting timeline came at the perfect time, with the period of time between when I received the paperwork to the deadline I had to return it by aligning with this first Japanese winter and all of the events that came with it. It honestly felt like a no-brainer to sign on for another year then, with how content I was feeling with everything at the time, coupled with the fact that ZB1’s contract was set to expire in January 2026 (it has since been extended to March 2026), meaning that I’d be able to keep seeing my favorite K-pop group at the highest level of frequency possible until they disband.

To top it all off, a few days before I submitted my recontracting paperwork, I met and meshed really well with a Japanese boy, which only confirmed my decision to stay. I’m honestly kind of embarrassed to write this, but I had never been more thankful I had decided to renew my contract then, because all I wanted to do was see this guy even more throughout the next year that I’d be living here.

I wrote in my very first post here that recontracting meant I’d be spending all of 2025 living in Japan. Now, as the end of the year approaches, I can’t help but think about all of the things I’ve gotten to do solely because I renewed my contract for another year. Here’s a short summary:

I cycled through teaching at six of the seven schools in my town and finally feel like I’ve found peace with my job at the schools I work at currently. The little things that make every day unique have become small but certain happinesses for me, like when I got to eat some udon that the first year students at one of my schools made (homemade noodles!!) in their home economics class with vegetables they grew at a local farm, or every time I go to one of the second year classes at my other school and see a student who comes up to talk to me and ask me questions about Hawaii after every single class.

I traveled to Korea five, going on six, times (crazy, I know), went to over 20 concerts and attended a few Asia-specific pop-ups (like the SKZOO 2025 pop-up store in March, the zeroni Sunshine Camp cafe in May, and the Boys II Planet exhibition in September). My K-pop fandom is something I’ve never half-assed, but living in Japan this year has really facilitated the rate at which I can participate in it. I know that I’ll be really sad when ZB1 disbands next year, but I’m equally as happy that I was able to see them as much as I could this year.

I crossed three new prefectures (Shizuoka, Miyagi and Yamagata) off of my prefecture list this year, but also traveled to other parts of Japan I had already seen — I went to the Osaka Kansai Expo in June, spent a lovely weekend in Kyushu with Sydney in October, and went to Tokyo at least once a month all year. I also visited my friends in Taiwan during Golden Week, and went home twice.

I went on dates where I went cherry blossom viewing, played arcade games, shared sweets at cafes, and drank in izakayas. I made new friends who live in Japan with me, and reconnected with old ones who were visiting from America. I spent a lot of 2024 in Japan feeling quite lonely, and a goal of mine in 2025 was to make more friends and find a richer community.

I even got to write this blog for a whole year — a goal I didn’t intentionally set for myself, but one I’m really proud of myself for achieving.

When I think about this past year of living in Japan, even some of the mundane things that I’ve now incorporated into my routine are things I can look back at and be proud of. I learned the layout of my local grocery store, have a regular takeout order when I’m too lazy to cook myself dinner, figured out how to use the printers at convenience stores to make copies and issue concert tickets, and can finally maintain small talk in (most) everyday interactions (earlier this week, I went to Starbucks and after ordering my drink, the barista randomly asked me if I wanted to add caramel or chocolate sauce to the drink for free, and that she’d even put a lot on if I wanted, and I said yes with no issues).

It’s almost unbelievable that things in my life seem so different now than they did at this time last year, and yet it’s only been one year. The me from last year is so different from the me now — the me who got to experience so many wonderful, new things because I chose to live here for the whole year. As winter came around again, I feel like I’m still enjoying myself the same amount as I was last year, but rather than that joy coming just from my escapes — my friends visiting from America or my constant trips out of my town in Ibaraki — suddenly, my contentment feels more inherent.

How crazy is it that everything can feel so different in such a short amount of time? It makes me reflect a lot about the temporary nature of my life right now — my job as an assistant English teacher, my residence in Japan, my social life. In a way, 2025 was like a perfect, uninterrupted bubble of time here. I knew I’d be living in Japan for the whole year, so I allowed myself to invest in new relationships, tried really hard to do well at work, and resolved to make living here seem more like my norm, rather than the novelty it had felt like at this time last year. I’m both grateful for and proud of myself for everything that my 2025 in Japan gave me.

Actually, the Japanese boy I meshed with and I were catching the train together once, and he asked me if I’d ever consider moving to another part of Japan (closer to him). I told him that I’d probably be moving back to America eventually, and he said something like, “Oh. I guess that’s what’s hard about making friends with foreigners. Everyone just leaves.”

Maybe that’s the unspoken truth of living abroad as a young adult in your 20s. Maybe everything really is temporary, and this perfect sliver of time I spent this year will eventually end, and I’ll move somewhere else. Maybe that’s just how this all goes.

I drove to my BOE after work today to pick up my paperwork asking if I want to renew my contract for a third year. I felt bittersweet as my supervisor explained it all to me again.

It gets really dark quite early in Japan lately, so the sun was already almost gone as I walked back to my car holding the thick envelope. The clouds in the sky were a mixture of pinks and purples, and the entire parking lot was shrouded in a weird twilight-like light that made everything seem a little more fragile than it actually was.

I thought, “Maybe one day, I’ll really miss this place.”

Honestly, the turnaround time between this post and my last is a lot shorter than I thought it was, so I don’t have too many things to update on re: fun things I did outside of work, aside from one really fun weekend I spent in Tokyo at the end of November!

I got really lucky with my seat at the first day of Treasure’s concert in Yokohama (Japanese concerts distribute seats through a lottery system, meaning you don’t find out your seat until a few days before the show). I had won an upgrade ticket (an opportunity to pay a little more to have a seat guaranteed near the front), which guaranteed my seat to be somewhere on the floor, but I was really surprised and lucky to see that it was in the fifth row from the main stage and in the section closest to the catwalk and extended stage! I’ve been a fan of Treasure since before they debuted and used to run an update account on Twitter (with over 15,000 followers…) for one of the members, so it was really fun and exciting to see them perform again after a while.

On the same weekend, I got brunch with a friend and then reunited with Maya, one of my good friends from high school. It really was so nice to see her again after so long (in Japan of all places!), and to see that nothing between us had changed <3

I’m pretty stacked with plans until the end of the year — I’m going to Music Bank in Tokyo next weekend, which I’ve been looking forward to for months (I actually won an upgrade ticket for this concert as well, so I’m really excited to have a seat near the front of the floor to see Stray Kids and ZB1 again <3), going to Tokyo DisneySea with my friends the weekend after, and then spending Christmas and New Year’s with Kolby on our first ever sibling trip to Korea! I’ll include lots of pictures in my next post.

Finally, I want to say a quick thank you for taking the time to read my blog (I can’t believe that it’s been a thing for an entire year!) Thank you so much for being gentle with me as I reflect on everything that’s come with my journey in Japan over the past year. I wish you a happy holiday season, and I’ll see you with my next post in 2026!

Honestly, I’ve thought and will continue to think about the concept of Japanese American-ness everyday that I spend living in Japan, but it’s been especially top of mind for me this past month.

Let me start with this — I love being Japanese American. Growing up in Hawaii, where Japanese traditions are steeped into local customs, engaging with my Japanese background was never something that was difficult or something to be ashamed of. These roots are the strong foundation upon which my relationship with both my cultural and national identity are built.

When I started at USC, being Japanese became something unique about me, given the relatively low population of Japanese and Japanese American students there. That experience strengthened the ties I felt with Japan while I lived in mainland America, as I wrote articles about the Japanese American community for my college newspaper and did voluntary PR work for Japanese American organizations in L.A.

And now, living in Japan while this country is arguably the most popular tourist destination in the world, it feels extra fucking cool to claim both of these identities simultaneously.

Actually, one of my favorite things about living in Japan is meeting up with my friends when they are vacationing here. I get so much pleasure from speaking (my broken) Japanese for them while we order food or navigate around Tokyo together, or recommending them places to go on their trip so they can get a small taste of Japanese culture. It fills me with a weird sense of pride that is pretty difficult for me to describe — a strange combination of cultural dignity and self-worth.

The fact that I’m Japanese informs a lot of the way I go about my daily life now as I live here. In a way, a part of me derives justification from it — that living in Japan is natural for me because I’m biologically Japanese, that assimilating into Japanese culture is easier for me because of the exposure I’ve had to it throughout my life, that I’m allowed to partake in and speak about Japanese culture because of the Japanese blood that courses through my veins.

This justification is reinforced by my name and my face — Yamamoto is the 7th most common last name in the country, and my face is so 日本人っぽい (nihonjinppoi, literally translating to “like a Japanese person”) that no one bats an eye when I’m roaming about in any part of Japan.

But Japan has always been cool, even before the yen value dropped and all of the Japan travel TikToks began flooding my algorithm. There’s even a unit in the junior high school English textbook my students study about the phenomenon of Japanese pop culture’s worldwide spread — Japanese anime, dramas and video games have been popular outside of Japan for a very long time.

For a lot of my foreign friends who live in Japan, it was initial interests in these things that encouraged them to study Japanese and to move here. And frankly, I think it’s awesome and admirable that so many people who have no “inherent” tie to Japan by blood or cultural background choose this country as the place they want to move to and explore.

I’ve had extensive conversations with many of my non-Japanese expat friends about this, and I’ve discussed it here briefly before as well, but the experience of living as a foreigner in Japan is one that sucks. Not only is Japanese culture extremely different from western culture in terms of social norms, Japan’s homogenous population makeup gives foreigners — especially in rural towns like the one I live in — the additional hurdle of stares and pointed whispers as they go about their everyday lives doing everyday things.

Luckily (or not), I don’t really have this problem. Store clerks usually don’t immediately try to speak in English upon seeing me, I never get “日本語上手”’d (nihongo jouzu, meaning “Your Japanese is good!,” but when said to a foreigner by a Japanese person, usually means that your Japanese really isn’t that good, but they were surprised you knew any at all), and for the most part, most people assume I’m a Japanese person from Japan. In fact, I remember that when I first moved to one of the schools I teach at currently, my team teacher had the students guess where I was from, and immediately, multiple students guessed that I was from Japan 🙄.

In this way, it would be wrong to say that my Japanese ancestral heritage hasn’t made my experience living in Japan as an expat a little easier, or at the very least, a little different.

Because although I’m glad I don’t get stared at or recognized so obviously as different by everyone I’m surrounded with, another part of me is jealous of the perceived sense of freedom that I think comes with being a visible gaijin (foreigner). When you already visibly look different, expectations for what you know about Japan or your Japanese language ability are much, much lower — a phenomenon known as the gaijin pass.

I’ve talked about this with other Asian Americans living abroad in Asia as well, and I think it’s a common experience to see your visibly foreign friends being treated differently (maybe even better) than you are. For example, if a foreign friend and I had the same Japanese language level, my foreign friend would get the praise, and I would get confused looks as to why my Japanese isn’t better.

I recently was in Sendai, the largest city in Japan’s Tohoku region, with a friend who is visibly foreign. We decided to get a cab to go to our Airbnb together. However, it was our first time getting a cab at Sendai Station (because it was both of our first times in Sendai), so I think we were both a bit nervous. We ended up approaching a cab, who told us in English that the area to hail a cab was a further walk down from where we were.

As my friend and I walked to the area where we were actually supposed to get the cab, I told her that I was glad she was with me, because if I had approached the cab alone, the driver would’ve spoken to me in Japanese, which would have confused me (and him) and made me even more embarrassed than I already was.

All this to say — I also suck at Japanese, and I’m also American. Honestly, I don’t understand all of the nuances of Japanese life and society, and I probably never will.

Recently, I had an experience where I fundamentally disagreed with the actions my Japanese friend was taking in a social situation. Japanese culture is heavily dictated by a need for social harmony, and Japanese people tend to avoid conflict and being rude. This results in a “high-context” cultural system, where people tend to read between the lines in all of their social interactions. Contrasted with America’s “low-context” cultural system that values individualism and assertiveness, this understanding of Japanese societal norms is one that has been very difficult for me to learn and assimilate into.

The recent experience just served as even more confirmation that I’m not fully Japanese. It’s at times like this, where I face the difference between the American values I believe in and those of Japan head-on, that I feel the most conflicted about being Japanese American — when I’m reminded that this dichotomy exists, even if I look like I’m Japanese.

But this separation bleeds into my everyday life more than I’d like to admit. Honestly, I have pretty bad anxiety about this sometimes that leads me to explore less and often choose things that are familiar to avoid putting myself into situations where I don’t know exactly what I’m supposed to be doing, even though I have a face that “should.” It’s almost a sort of self-inflicted punishment that I only give myself because I think people have expectations of my cultural understanding that I know I can’t reach.

And I know realistically that no one cares, and that this anxiety lives solely in my own mind, but it’s so difficult to unlearn, especially because I have so much pride in being Japanese, given that it’s been a defining characteristic of my identity for so long.

I visited my friend Sydney in Fukuoka recently. Before my visit, she asked if I’d like to participate with her in a local festival, and without knowing any other information, I agreed. It turned out to be the Nakasu Kunihiro Onna Mikoshi, where Sydney and I were among 500 women who carried a portable shrine through the streets of Fukuoka.

It was an experience unlike any I had ever had before. Sydney and I got to wear traditional festival wear and march on the festival route with women of all ages. We even got to ride on top of the mikoshi together, leading the “soya!” chant, literally supported by the shoulders of women lifting us up together. I’ll never forget the feeling of trying not to lose my footing on the two wooden planks I was balancing on, combined with the view of hundreds of people lining the streets, watching and chanting along with me. I think it’s an experience that will remain one of the most striking of my time living here.

I’m embarrassed to say that another reason why the experience was so remarkable was because it was also my very first time participating actively in a festival, even though I’ve lived in Japan for over a year and I’m Japanese American. While the festival was empowering and culturally invigorating, at the same time, I couldn’t help but feel ashamed of myself — for not being familiar with this culture as I was surrounded by people who grew with it and ingrained it into their lives. I felt so unbelievably foreign, and I felt so mad at myself for feeling bittersweet about my Japanese identity in what’s arguably the most Japanese setting I’ve ever placed myself into.

I left the festival with a lot of questions. How can I profess my Japanese identity when I sometimes just feel so far away from it? How much am I allowed to claim if I only know mere facets of what it means to be Japanese?

Combined with the fact that I often reap the benefits of appearing and being perceived as Japanese, who am I to pick and choose when I can enjoy the good parts of being Japanese, and when I can claim the gaijin pass and make the excuse that I’m American? The Asian face that hides my American truth is exactly what it sounds like — a mask that I can utilize when it’s convenient and discard when it’s not.

How can the two truths of my identities coexist? I wonder sometimes if it’s even possible.

I know that there’s no one right way to be Japanese American, or to be any multicultural entity. I also know that the dichotomy is one that is ongoing and will develop as I continue to live here and am given more experiences that will both challenge and enlighten me. Everyone has grown and lived such different experiences that shape their view of culture and identity.

And this — all of this — is mine.

As always, I enjoyed my non-cultural awakening time in Japan as well. I spent the latter half of the month wearing glasses because of my corneal ulcer that finally (!!) is completely resolved — so aespa, Stray Kids and my parents all got to enjoy me with glasses. I also saw ZB1 again with Rina at the end of the month which was perfect, of course.

The day after the ZB1 concert, I flew to Fukuoka for the most awesome weekend with Sydney. Affectionately known as my “Higashi-san,” named after the best friend my mom made when she did this English teaching program in the 90s, I truly felt so happy to spend time with Sydney and see her life in Japan. We dressed up as “drunk salarymen” (we just wore ties we thrifted from 2nd Street that night) for Halloween, went to two festivals, ate soooo good (I had the best ebi mayo of my life that weekend), and yapped enough to tide us over until the next time we can meet in person <3

I also went to Sendai for the first time with my friend Liz! Sendai is only a 3-hour limited express train from Ibaraki, so it was a really relaxing weekend trip. Sendai is actually the setting for Haikyuu!, a really popular sports anime, so Liz and I went to the real-life gym where most of the volleyball games in the series are held, which was so fun (my first time doing an anime pilgrimage LOL). If anyone is interested, the gym (Kamei Arena Sendai) is actually under renovation currently, but you can still see the entrance (which was enough for me) and the monument, as well as some nearby manhole covers, near Tomizawa Station.

We also did a really beautiful hike at Yamadera, a temple located an hour-long train ride from Sendai in neighboring Yamagata prefecture. We went at the perfect time of year, with all of the fall foliage coloring the hike rich browns and oranges. I would definitely recommend checking out this hike and the surrounding town if you’re ever in the Sendai area. The hike itself has quite a bit of stairs, but coming from a non-hiker, it was doable and worth it!

Lastly, I wanted to mention that I’ve been feeling really content with my life and what I’m doing here in Japan — enjoying my last year as an assistant language teacher by planning lots of fun trips, as well as preparing for what’s coming after I finish my teaching contract. I feel relieved to be in a place where I’m satisfied with my life right now, but also not scared of what’s coming next.

Here’s to only (or at least mostly) good things in Japan from now on!

As I (the person who actually did the action of going to Korea for 34 hours to see Stray Kids for the 16th time) write this, I think that sentence is absolutely bonkers.

It’s funny because for the vast majority of people in the world, there is no doubt that going on an international trip for less than two days for the sole purpose of seeing a concert is actually fucking insane.

But I am clearly not a part of the vast majority of people. In fact, I’ve gone on more weekend trips to Korea for concerts than I (or my wallet) would like to admit. Living in Japan for over a year has only facilitated the frequency at which I can see my idols — last year, I had a streak with a different group I follow where I saw them perform at least once a month for eight months straight.

I’m also not particularly shy about the fact that I’m such a big fan of Stray Kids. In fact, the very platform that you’re reading this entry on started as a class project for a USC journalism class — a Substack newsletter and an accompanying Instagram as a continuation of a column I wrote in my college newspaper called “Kacie on K-Pop.”

In the final installment of that column, I wrote about arriving at USC as a freshman and wanting to conceal my interest in K-pop, because fangirling, especially about K-pop, has never been the coolest thing to do. But as I wrote in that column, as time passed throughout college, I realized that I wanted to prioritize “spending time doing things I genuinely enjoyed” — including K-pop.

Since then, I’ve shamelessly posted on my Instagram Stories about the K-pop concerts and events I attend, my friends who don’t like K-pop consistently ask me about how my favorite member of Stray Kids (Lee Know <3) is doing, and I’ve done all the crazy devoted K-pop fan things, like hosting a support cupsleeve event for Lee Know’s birthday, running group orders for fan call opportunities and making freebies to give out at concerts.

So when I was heading to the airport for my 34-hour stint in Korea to see Stray Kids, I was really confused and upset about why I wasn’t that excited to go. Every time I’ve gone to Korea for a concert, I count down the days before for weeks (I was even anticipating the trip I went on to see ZB1 two weeks ago for months before it finally happened).

But this trip suddenly felt very inconvenient and not very worthwhile — it was cutting into time I wanted to spend with my parents while they were visiting Japan, my seat at the actual concert was in the farthest section possible from the stage, and the trip was so short that I couldn’t really enjoy anything besides the concert while I was there (I arrived in Seoul at 10pm on Saturday night, spent almost the whole day at the venue on Sunday, and flew back to Tokyo at 8am on Monday morning). When you add on the fact that I’m still wearing glasses because of my corneal ulcer, the fact that I was just in Korea less than two weeks before for ZB1, and the fact that I was genuinely so exhausted from nonstop traveling and socializing for the past few weekends, this trip was beginning to feel like a whole lot of hassle that I wasn’t sure even a Stray Kids concert could make up for.

And honestly, feeling that way made me sadder than I’ve felt in a very, very long time. I cried at the airport gate thinking about it, because I never would have thought I’d be feeling this way about going to a Stray Kids concert — a time and place where I’ve always said I feel nothing but happiness for the few hours that I’m there. How could these usual feelings of excitement and joy be replaced with what I can only describe as dread and annoyance?

To truly understand why I was so confused and sad about feeling this way, I’ll talk briefly about my own fandom journey with Stray Kids. As a forewarning, I will acknowledge that this will probably be a little cringey (especially if you don’t like K-pop yourself), but these are my true feelings and frankly, I’m being pretty vulnerable sharing them because Stray Kids means a lot to me, so if you’re going to be mean to me about it, just remember that literally no one is forcing you to read this and you can click away anytime <3

I got into Stray Kids in early 2019 because of my best friend from high school. Even as my relationship with her changed as we entered college, I think I’ll always feel a sense of warmth towards her, because we are inherently tied together by the love we had for this group. I also think that it’s because of this foundation that I’ve always attached a lot of meaning to Stray Kids, because they became something associated with everything in my life from the very beginning.

Since then, Stray Kids has always been my favorite K-pop group. One of the things I especially like about Stray Kids is that they’re a completely self-produced group, with all of their songs being written and produced by the group’s producing team (three members known collectively as 3RACHA). They write songs about individualism (Levanter), about growing up (Another Day), about how their differences make them strong (Comflex).

But I think the Stray Kids songs that resonate with me the most are the ones where they sing about leaning on others for help and being a sense of support for their listeners. Songs like Silent Cry, Streetlight and Hold My Hand have lyrics about being pillars of support for others in need — a small and quiet, yet certain, feeling of comfort amidst the real life worries or struggles a listener could be facing.

In October 2023, I went on my very first trip to Korea to see Stray Kids at their Unveil 13 concert. A concept unique to Stray Kids, Unveil concerts are shows (usually part of a larger tour) held shortly before an album drop that include performances of songs to be released on the new album.

That trip was one full of happiness — it felt like the best reward after I had just graduated from USC and wrapped up a fulfilling summer internship at Nintendo of America. But after I returned home, I remember feeling so lost and discouraged during a harrowing job search that eventually resulted in me moving back home permanently (until I moved to Japan LOL).

At the Unveil 13 concert I saw, Stray Kids performed a song called “Blind Spot” for the very first time. I’ve actually written about this song on my blog before, but it’s a song about hardships and efforts that go unknown before achieving great success. At the time of its release, it felt like a song that Stray Kids had, albeit impossibly, written specifically for me to hear.

For a long time, I’ve said that Stray Kids’ music has been the soundtrack of my youth (this is aided by the fact that all of the members of Stray Kids are around the same age as me, with members being born between the years of 1997 and 2001). What I’ve realized over my six and a half years of being their fan is that the music that they write resonates with me because it’s music that comes directly from the shared experience of youth — a shared experience that we’re going through, in real time, together.

So, with all of this meaning and love and reasoning behind my fandom in mind, I was really confused why I wasn’t as excited as I usually am to go to this concert. As I sat at the airport gate waiting to board my flight to Seoul, as I made the two-hour commute to the concert venue and contemplated how long it would take me to get home, as I hiked up the millions of stairs to my shitty seat at the top floor of the venue, I couldn’t help but feel like all of this was suddenly not worth it.

As I waited for the concert to start, I began making conversation with the fan, a Moldovan college student studying abroad in Seoul, sitting next to me. We talked a little bit before I made a comment about how this concert venue was just so big. She agreed, and said that when she goes to Stray Kids concerts, she gains comfort from being able to see how many people love Stray Kids like she does.

Weirdly enough, her statement is actually one I’ve made myself — after I saw Stray Kids sell out Tokyo Dome (50,000+ capacity) last year, I remember thinking that for me, liking Stray Kids has been something I’ve mainly done on my own, but at that concert, I could truly see and reckon with just how many people gain the same level of comfort, love and happiness from them as I do. There’s something poetic in seeing that effect I’ve felt so deeply within myself manifest into something tangible and real for so many people to enjoy.

This hits particularly hard for someone who’s been liking Stray Kids for so long. A few days after I decided that I’d officially become a Stay (the Stray Kids fandom name) back in 2019, Stray Kids achieved their very first win on a domestic music show (TLDR; There are a few music shows broadcast in Korea every week. Each show picks a winner on every episode based on a combination of streaming points and fan votes). I remember watching the win, when they cried and cried on the broadcast because they were so happy that day.

Now, Stray Kids is the first artist in history to have seven consecutive No. 1 albums on the Billboard 200 chart, and they sell out stadiums around the world (their dominATE world tour was the largest K-pop tour in North America, Latin America and Europe in history). I remember the very first time I saw them — at the Microsoft Theater in Los Angeles (7,000 capacity) for their District 9: Unlock tour in 2020. There’s no way that either of us — me or them — could’ve ever dreamed of the success they’d see today.

And as I watched the concert this time (a sold-out show at Incheon Asiad Main Stadium), my feelings of confusion over why I didn’t feel the same kind of excitement as usual morphed into feelings of nostalgia and pride — feelings that could be born only from the depth at which I truly love and support Stray Kids.

I feel like fandom is not one-dimensional in this way — there’s no right way to qualify what being a fan should look like, or how one should feel as a fan all the time. There are millions of other people who like Stray Kids that aren’t at these concerts. The way I feel about Stray Kids is unique to me, and the way anyone engages with any fandom is unique to them. An interest in anything is fluid, and with fandom in particular, I’ve gained so much joy from simply being able to support these people that I admire so much.

I always say that my life has changed so much since I was a senior in high school, but that one constant amidst all of that change is how much I love and support Stray Kids. And honestly, that will change one day too. But the comfort I’ve gleaned from the Stray Kids music that was the BGM of my life for the last six and a half years will never leave me.

It’s always hard for me to find the right words to truly convey what Stray Kids means to me, but even now, I always end up back here: that these eight boys will always remain in the most sacred, precious place in my heart, because they helped me grow into the person I am now — a person that I can only hope they’d be proud of. That will never change, and for that, I’ll always be grateful.

Do you remember when we first got glasses?

It was in third grade, when a substitute teacher noticed that you were squinting at the board and called Mom. I remember you thought glasses were ugly, so you told her that you actually could see just fine, but Mom took you to the Costco Optical Center anyway, and you got your very first pair of glasses that came in the plastic iCarly branded case that cracked after someone sat on it.

Do you remember when we first started wearing contacts?

It was in sixth grade, when you started playing youth softball. You sucked (you still suck) at wearing contacts — every time you rubbed one of your eyes a little too hard, the contact popped out of your eye and you’d have to take out the other one before putting your glasses back on anyway. You wasted a lot of contacts because of this, so you really should get better at using contacts sooner rather than later.

So, my dear 11 year-old Kacie who wears glasses, throughout your first few months of wearing contacts, we actually aren’t wearing contacts all that much. Right now, as you enter your first year of middle school, you’re cycling in between wearing glasses and contacts to school pretty regularly.

Do you remember when we walked into math class once, and your math teacher asked why you were wearing glasses?

“Don’t you have contacts?” he asked, and when you replied that you did, he said that you should wear your contacts instead because they looked better.

Do you remember when we walked into math class again, and your math teacher said your glasses made you look like a grandma and started calling you names in front of the whole class, and everyone laughed?

Do you remember when we went to the cafeteria to get lunch later that day, and a classmate on lunch duty that day handed you your tray and said, “Here you go, Granny?”

Maybe it didn’t make you feel bad back then, but looking back at it over 10 years later, you must have felt sad because of this, right? I’m sure it’s probably embarrassing for you to keep wearing glasses to school, and I’m sure once you finally get the hang of it, you’ll never want to stop wearing contacts out in public again.

So, my dear 11 year-old Kacie who wears glasses, we’ll actually get a lot better at wearing contacts soon. You’ll wear only contacts everyday soon — to the point where people who didn’t know us in middle school will be surprised when they find out how bad our vision is because they never see us with glasses.

It’s a little heartbreaking when I really sit and think about how much you/me/we were affected by how you were received wearing glasses when you were in middle school. I joke about it now to my friends who know about my aversion to glasses, referring to it as my “middle school trauma,” but with all of the empathy and sensitivity in my heart, I can acknowledge that those events were big pillars in shaping the way I looked at and perceived myself at that time in my life. All of those experiences accumulated into an understanding that I was ugly when I wore glasses — an understanding that would become so ingrained into me that in my head, it became more of a fact.

When I started this blog at the beginning of this year, I wrote the very first entry sitting in my apartment homebound with pinkeye. I had contracted it at the end of the year on a trip to Kanazawa with my friends and refused to go to a doctor until I was back in Ibaraki a week later (a very stupid decision), continuing on my trip to Tokyo and Seoul with my right eye red, swollen shut and leaking fluid.

If it gives you any idea how much I still hate wearing glasses, I didn’t even bring my glasses with me on that trip because I usually wear my contacts from the moment I wake up until the last moment before I go to bed — forcing me to buy an emergency pair of glasses from a random store in Myeongdong that I still wear today. I lived my worst nightmare on that trip because I was forced to wear my glasses out in public everywhere. In fact, all of my pictures from Seoul feature me in glasses, covering my infected eye with a random peace sign.

I went to the eye doctor in Ibaraki the day after I returned to Japan, and was given a week off of work to treat the pinkeye and recuperate — a week I was thankful for, because it meant I would have to go to work wearing my glasses for only one week instead of two, before I’d be cleared to wear my contacts again the week after.

I won’t lie, I had so much anxiety going to work at my schools with my glasses that fateful week in January. Japanese people aren’t exactly shy about pointing out things that are new about your appearance — a haircut, a shirt that doesn’t fit you quite right, a recent weight gain — so I knew that my students and coworkers were going to say things to me about my glasses. In our shared experience with this, my dear 11 year-old Kacie, I’m sure you can understand why I was nervous.

The teachers that I team taught with at both of the schools I worked at at the time all asked me about why I was wearing my glasses, to which most of them replied that my glasses really did suit me. One of them even said that they made me look “really smart,” which I can only assume she meant as a compliment.

I was also complaining a lot about all of this to the guy I was kind of seeing at the time (because of course). So when he asked me to send him a picture of myself wearing my glasses (the worst thing he could have possibly asked), I fought with myself about it for a little and finally sent one, to which he replied with the Japanese equivalents of “Wait, it’s cute,” and “I want glasses too now.”

Thankfully, that week was a short one, and I was back to contacts before I knew it, and that short glasses era has been pretty much forgotten by everyone except for me. After that week in January, I wouldn’t say that I suddenly felt 100% confident wearing my glasses out in public again (and I definitely wouldn’t chose to do so on my own volition), but these people — my coworkers and that guy — reacting to my glasses in a way so unlike the negativity I knew and was expecting, felt like the first step I could make towards a sense of healing a complex I internalized so deeply I couldn’t help but think of as true.

But regardless, I was more than ready to switch back to contacts and to leave my glasses at home again once my pinkeye cleared up.

And I did a really good job about keeping my glasses at home until earlier this week, when I noticed a foreign feeling in one of my eyes while I was returning home from another trip to Seoul. I switched to wearing glasses on Tuesday to be safe, hoping that the one-day break from contacts would make my eye feel better. I wore them again on Wednesday after noticing a tiny white speck on the corner of my iris, with a plan to go to the eye clinic after school.

That day, I walked into my school’s third-year junior high school class. As usual, I kept my head down as I walked to the front of the room, hearing whispers of “メガネ?” (translating to ‘Glasses?’) and “えーかわいい!” (‘Wow, cute!’) from the students that of course, did not go unnoticed by me.

During class that day, I sat in the back of the room as the students were doing group work, and I saw one of the students get up to go ask my team teacher something. I noticed the teacher turn her head to look at me, before responding to him. When he sat back down, all of the other students suddenly began turning their heads to look at me too, small smiles gracing their faces as they said the Japanese equivalent of “Just say it.”

“Kacie,” my student suddenly said. “You look cute with glasses.”

“Actually,” my team teacher said. “He came over to me earlier just to ask me how to say that.”

And everyone in that room was smiling so big at this entire exchange that I couldn’t help but believe that this was the truth.

My dear 11 year-old Kacie, how ironic and unbelievable and special is it that it was in another middle school classroom — this one across the world and over a decade in the future — that the glasses you always thought were ugly could suddenly become something that people find special about you? It’s soothing in an accidental way — that this trauma I buried so deeply inside me could finally reach a resolution, this time with me on the opposite side of the exchange.

Of course, my students in that class have no idea how much their words meant to me that day. Neither do the students in any of my other classes or the other coworkers who point out my glasses. Honestly, maybe I don’t even know how much this kindness will really mean to me as I take it with me on my ongoing journey towards self-love and understanding.

After a trip to the eye clinic later that day, it turns out that I have a corneal ulcer on my left eye. According to my intense Googling, I’ll probably be wearing glasses for the next few weeks at the very least — the longest period I’ve worn glasses in public since I was 11 years old.

But with every day that I wear glasses as my eye heals, a part of our heart, my dear 11 year-old Kacie, will heal alongside it.

Love,

24 year-old Kacie who wears glasses

Please enjoy these glasses-less pictures of me from the last few weeks!

The last few weeks have proven to be really full — I celebrated my birthday in Tokyo with Sydney (who flew all the way from Fukuoka) and Krista (who was visiting from Hawaii) with more alcohol than anyone should consume ever, and drank even more when Mackenzie visited a few weeks later.

The K-pop audition show that I’ve been watching since the summer also ended a few weeks ago, so my friend and I celebrated with a watch party of the final episode at a karaoke room (equipped with dual screens) and convenience store snacks. The Japan broadcasting company of the show also installed a huge ad in Shibuya Station featuring individual pictures of all the contestants, and I was also able to visit the show’s pop-up exhibition in Seongsu while I was in Seoul for the ZB1 concert.

And yes, of course I traveled to Seoul once again to go see ZB1 at the first stop of their new world tour. It was so healing to see them again after a while, as well as to go for the very first time with my dear friend Rina and to reunite with my other friend Lillian. I was so happy that weekend. I was also happy to enjoy Seoul wearing contacts, because the next time I’ll be there (in two weeks LOL), I’ll be enjoying everything with glasses 🤓 I will include some pictures of me wearing glasses as I continue my adventures in Japan in my next entry!

Honestly, I did begin this semester mentally reminding myself, “Try not to hate it!,” running through my mind — a way of setting intention for something I wanted to improve.

People say that you should enjoy your job because you spend so much of your time working, and lately, I guess I’ve realized that these people are right. My job sucking less has honestly made my whole life suck less — the quiet of my inaka town is calming rather than stifling, the distance from Tokyo is freeing rather than inconveniencing.

I almost deluded myself into believing I even preferred my life in Ibaraki over a hypothetical, dream life I have where I reside in Tokyo, until this weekend.

I made plans with a friend to go clubbing in Shibuya last Friday night. The plan was to meet in Shibuya at 8:30 (the soonest I can arrive in Tokyo after a work day) and go to an izakaya and pregame at a bar before going out.

But the world had other plans for me that day because of a typhoon that originally hit southern Japan the previous day, before making it’s way along the coastline up past Tokyo and into Ibaraki.

Last Friday, I went to work and my coworker told me as we walked to a class we’d be teaching together that she hoped school would get cancelled because of the typhoon. I also hoped it would, so I could go home sooner and get ready to spend my weekend in Tokyo.

But alas, school was not cancelled — the one train line running from my town’s only station was instead.

In order to not doxx myself while recounting this story, I’ll refer to my home station as Station A, a connecting station I need to transfer at as Station B, and Mito Station (the station where I transfer to Tokyo) as Mito.

Luckily, the trains between Station A and Station B picked back up at around the time I had to leave my town in order to make it to Tokyo on time. The trains between Station B and Mito were allegedly still running, albeit delayed, so I got on the train at Station A and commuted relatively worry-free to Station B.

I was feeling pretty optimistic about beating this unexpected obstacle as I waited for the connecting train between Station B and Mito to arrive. But this optimism drained the longer I waited — an entire hour and a half until a train finally arrived at the platform I was waiting at, only to be heading in the opposite direction back to Station A.

In the duration of the hour and a half of waiting, I thought that maybe it’d be easier to catch a cab from Station B to Mito, only to check my cab apps and see that there were literally no cabs in the vicinity, because Station B is even smaller than my town’s station and situated even more randomly in the middle of nowhere.

So, as the train heading back to Station A pulled in, I think I ran through every possibility of what could happen to me and every thought imaginable that night in my head — that I’d be stranded at Station B for a very, very long time if I kept waiting; that I’d have to miss clubbing with my friend to celebrate our birthdays (!!) or at the very least, would be extremely late; that this wouldn’t have happened if I lived somewhere that wasn’t the middle of nowhere. I texted another friend I have living in Tokyo a very vague message about how I was frustrated with train delays, to which he replied that he also gets frustrated with the short delays on the train lines on his way to work — a well-intended response but about a situation that is just simply not the same.

Long story short, I ended up taking the train back to Station A — mostly in defeat, as I intended of just going back to my apartment and lying down after that whole fiasco — before my friend convinced me to take a cab from Station A to Mito instead. So, a hefty cab fare and two and a half hours later, I met her in Shibuya, where she handed me the most beautiful bouquet of flowers for my birthday and I drank so much that I forgot about all the hassle it took to get there.

And actually, I ended up having a really great time that weekend — after clubbing with my friend that first night, I went to a beautiful flower cafe with a friend I hadn’t met in five years (what!!), went to go buy the new ZB1 album and talk for hours in a Toriki with a different friend, and went to a Chinese festival in Yoyogi Park with a completely new friend.

It’s honestly ironic that a weekend so good began so badly. I think it could serve as a metaphor for a lot of things, because I think this is a pattern of my life in the inaka — something bad or inconvenient happens, then I spiral and question why my life sucks or why I don’t live in Tokyo, then I figure out a way to fix it — an intention for something to improve — and then everything ends up being OK.

Actually, this pattern also really aligns with my intentions going into my 24th year of life. Happy birthday to me ^ - ^ !!!! I celebrated this year by going to work, buying myself takeout for dinner, and then calling my mom.

It’s definitely a step up from how I celebrated last year, when I went to work, bought myself takeout for dinner, and then called my mom and cried on the phone with her because my birthday felt like nothing to celebrate when all I felt was lonely and overwhelmed and sad, freshly one month into living in Japan.

In all honesty, my birthday last year sucked. It was made better by my very first night out clubbing until first train with my dear friend Sydney (who traveled all the way from Fukuoka to spend my birthday weekend with me just a month after we first met), but the actual day and the idea of my birthday last year are memories that still make my heart hurt a little when I think about them.

Truthfully, my relationship with my birthday — like many of my relationships — is one that is constantly adapting. When I was younger, I loved my birthday. Every year, my mom would bring desserts for my class to school, my parents would let me have a birthday slumber party at my house, and I would even count down the days until my half-birthday (March 9, if anyone was wondering.) Some of my best memories are tied to my birthday — a sweet 16 in Disneyland with my best friend from high school, a 17th birthday at a BTS concert with my mom, a 21er at some dingy club in Palo Alto with my best friend from college.

But along the way, my birthday transformed into something else. I used to hear all about the girls who cry on their birthday, and honestly, that really wasn’t me until very recently — when my birthday’s measurement of time passing shifted into something scary instead of exciting, when the birthday wishes (in the form of Instagram stories and texts) I received from people in my life were outweighed by the ones I didn’t from the people who left it.

I’m not sure why, but this year, like all the years when I was a child, I was really excited for my birthday again. And honestly, it was for good reason, because it was genuinely a really good day — one of my ALT coworkers randomly got assigned to work at the same school as me that day so I got to spend the day with a friend (who later bought me a slice of cake from a local Japanese bakery to celebrate), my students sang me happy birthday during morning greeting, I didn’t cry on the phone with my mom, and perhaps most random (but most special), a friend of mine went to ZB1’s in-person fan signing event, where she got my favorite member to personally wish me a happy birthday as well.

I think I realized that I’m at the perfect age right now — 24 sits not quite at the precipice of adulthood, but in a comfortable spot after the fall. It’s a time where I think that I can still figure things out and can still make mistakes, combined with a sense of independence and freedom that comes with making my own money and living on my own. Honestly, I think it’s an age that is enviable — young and free, independent and strong — and why wouldn’t I be excited to embark on that?

Moreso, why would I be reluctant to embrace and experience everything I can at this time? Maybe this means big things and adventures like spontaneous trips to other regions of Japan, befriending strangers in weird places, learning about things I probably will have no use for in my life after Japan.

And as I write this, perhaps you’ve caught on to the motif I’ve woven through this post. Maybe to make anything — any train delay, any birthday, any shitty living situation — better, we should set intentions when we want something to improve.

So here’s mine:

I will never be as young and as beautiful as I am today, and sometime in fifty years or so, I’ll probably reminisce on the years I spent living here and yearn to go back and enjoy all of it — to walk the boring streets of rural Ibaraki one more time, to do one more awkward morning greeting at school, to spend one more hour alone stranded at Station B — for even just one more day. I can’t afford to waste any more of them.

As promised last month, here are some photos from when I went back home to Hawaii for my mom’s retirement party a few weeks ago. It was so heartwarming to see how happy she was surrounded by so many people that she loves from so many different areas of her life. I included some other photos of random small happinesses throughout last month too :”)

Happy summer vacation all! I hope that you’ve been having a restful, relaxing break.

I’ve personally been doing a whole lot of nothing this summer. Under my work contract, I still have to work throughout the summer break period, even if school isn’t in session. So, all I’ve done everyday this summer is sit in the same chair in the same conference room at my town’s Board of Education office and alternate between doomscrolling, doing my daily reviews on my kanji spaced repetition app, and watching the new seasons of The Summer I Turned Pretty and Boys Planet, all under the guise of “work.” Actually, it’s what I’m doing right now as I write this blog post.

Sometimes, my coworkers and I will take little field trips out of the office and run errands — walking over to City Hall to pay our rent, going to the nearby kaiten sushi or gyudon restaurants for lunch, or buying snacks at the convenience store nearby. On the field trip I took today with my coworker Lauren, she mentioned that she had been thinking recently about how we met for the first time just over one year ago in the parking lot we were walking past.

Time really flies, whether or not you’re having fun, I guess. When I look back at my time in Japan so far, it’s hard to believe that over a year has already passed.

Maybe it’s a symptom of my current working environment, but sometimes, I look back at the events of the last year and I feel like nothing has changed. My Japanese still sucks, I haven’t grown at all at work (not that there are any opportunities for promotion or tangible growth anyway), and my love-hate relationship with Ibaraki is still skewing hate.

When I envisioned moving to Japan and doing this teaching program, I thought that after a year, I’d feel like a different person — like the study abroad memes that claim that after your time abroad, you’re a completely changed person who’s suddenly all-knowing after seeing a little bit more of the world. I honestly (foolishly) thought that I would instantly love my new, quiet life in rural Japan, that I would change the lives of the junior high schoolers I see every week, and that I would be returning to America with some profound discovery about the ways I view life and the world.

However, over the past year, I realized that I actually don’t really like reading Japanese textbooks, so my Japanese has yet to improve; I actually don’t really like kids, so my work hasn’t been the most fulfilling; and I actually don’t really like living in the middle of nowhere, so the lifestyle that living in Ibaraki requires isn’t necessarily one I want to continue forever.

So those glorified feelings I expected to feel after my (first) year in Japan are virtually nowhere to be found.

One could argue that my life still feels stagnant because I haven’t made the most concentrated efforts to overcome the problems I just mentioned — I haven’t really locked in on my Japanese studying outside of complaining about how much I hate textbooks, I haven’t really tried to improve my relationships with my students, and I haven’t really made efforts to find aspects of Ibaraki that I like. How can one expect things that aren’t working to change if one doesn’t actively try to change them?

Going into my second year of my teaching program and continuing to live in my countryside town, I made a conscious decision that I want to focus more on putting time and effort into my life in Japan — actively trying to meet new friends in Ibaraki and in Tokyo to spend time with, actively trying to get better at Japanese to improve my overall language proficiency, actively trying to do new things locally to find a home in my town.

And while I set these new goals, I can also give myself grace for the year that’s already passed in which the idea of time and effort was not a priority for me. Sure, maybe a small part of me is kicking myself for not trying harder earlier to create a community for myself here or to study Japanese more intensely. But the me I was last year had just moved to Japan all by herself and honestly, she was just trying to survive.

And in writing these last few paragraphs of reflection and intention, I can also acknowledge how much both I and my life really have changed. I suppose these changes aren’t the most dramatic or obvious, and I suppose an idealistic me yearns for better, but it feels like a disservice to myself not to recognize and be proud of the progress I have made over my last year in Japan.

I feel it a lot when I think about how cyclical this life really is, and I’ve been thinking about that a lot recently as this second year has begun. Events I’ve already been to are happening again — my town’s annual summer festival (the first event I ever attended here) was this past Monday, and Ibaraki is beginning preparations for our teaching program’s annual meeting (a meeting I went to last September as well). My favorite convenience store dessert, the strawberry shaved ice with condensed milk from Seven Eleven, is finally back in stock for the summer season after a year of my yearning. And lately, the weather hasn’t been as unbearable as usual, reminding me that soon the air will cool down and the leaves on the trees dotting the mountains in my city will turn yellow — a passage of time I’ve already witnessed.

I feel like since moving to Japan, my life has been divided by the four seasons in a way it never was before. I guess in Hawaii and in L.A., the seasons don’t dictate too much, considering that the weather is basically the same year-round. But in Japan, daily life is deeply connected to the four seasons — events like cherry blossom viewing usher in new beginnings in the spring, fireworks and summer festivals help people manage the heat of summer, the leaves change color and rich culture abounds in autumn, and illuminations and onsens bring warmth to the frigid winter, all connected by the tangible changes in weather Japan’s geography allows for.

When I look back on this past year, my life too is divided into those seasons. The me experiencing this summer feels so drastically different from the me that experienced last summer.

And when I look back on my memories of the past year, I can almost visualize the changes. I can vividly recall the adjustment the me of last autumn who had no teaching experience underwent when I started suddenly working in schools everyday. My most vivid memories from this past winter are tinged blue from the cold weather and melancholy I felt that season. The me of last spring, who started this blog and began to understand my place here just a little bit better, was bright and optimistic. Much of my life may have not changed on the outside, but somehow, a part of me already feels like a completely different person — a me I never could have imagined, because the only way I could meet and become her was through the intricacies of everything that happened to me this past year.

Last weekend, I saw a friend I met last winter again for the first time in months. After a hug and a hisashiburi (久しぶり, meaning long time no see), the first thing that he told me was that I really haven’t changed.

Obviously, I know that this friend isn’t a mind reader and that he definitely just meant that I looked the same as I did when we first met eight months ago, but I couldn’t help thinking that he was wrong — that I’ve actually changed so much from the me I was yesterday, from the me he first met, from the me I was before I came to Japan.

Going into this second year, I know there is so much more to learn and gain from being here, and with my new goals in mind, I want to see those tangible changes and work harder towards building the life I envisioned here.

But if those objectives fail, who knows how else I’ll change underneath, even with no goals in mind?

I didn’t include any pictures of my life in Japan in my last blog post, so here’s what I’ve been up to for the past two months instead of just one!

The first weekend of July was probably my busiest weekend in Japan ever — I spent that Friday night with my dear friend Anthony from the Daily Trojan, my Saturday night reconnecting with my college tour guide coworker-turned-friend Andrew, and my Sunday with my high school senpai (senior) Alana, in the midst of going to a 2-day K-pop music festival that same weekend. I crashed out so hard at work that next Monday (I still can’t believe I even went), but it was so worth it to see and reunite with my friends from home.

One of the assistant English teachers in my town also returned to his home country a few weeks ago, so we had a farewell dinner for him earlier this month, and as always, I spent a good chunk of my free time in Tokyo (I’m broke though, so the trips to Tokyo unfortunately must decrease in frequency very very soon.)

(Not pictured is the trip I took back home last month, but I’ll be going home again in a week and a half, so I’ll include some Hawaii pics in my next entry!)

But this month, there was no struggle figuring out what to write about, but rather, how exactly to go about it.

There’s no sugarcoated or sensitized way to say this, but my grandmother passed away earlier this week.

I think that grief is one of those awful and horrible, yet almost beautiful, things in our collective life that can somehow bridge every gap, because it’s one of those universal feelings that everyone — even the people that don’t like me or the people that don’t speak the same language as me or the people that live far away from me — is forced to experience.

But right now, most of the people who knew and loved my grandmother and are grieving her with me are very, very far away, which makes this current episode of grief one that feels quite isolating.

I would never go as far as to say that grieving with others is somehow easier than grieving alone, because I think that grief is something that everyone does a little differently, but this is the first time that the only comfort I’m receiving is coming in the form of text condolences rather than physical hugs.

It’s also painfully clear through this blog that I’m not ashamed to talk about how isolating living abroad can be as a whole — so much so that I feel like I’m always crashing out even when I’m living my normal life (without my grandma dying) — so losing a loved one in the midst of all of that is really, really shitty.

If you’ve read this blog for a while, you probably know that I have a tendency towards reflection (maybe even a little too much). Standing in the face of grief, I honestly think it’s quite ironic how losing someone can suddenly make you want to be a lot closer to them, to have one last meaningful conversation with them, to know as much as you can about them, as if you didn’t have what you thought was all the time in the world with them to ask them before.

The summer after I graduated from high school, I worked a part-time internship at a local Japanese newspaper back in Hawaii. Honestly, I think that working there was the first time that I ever really clung to my identity as Japanese American, which you can probably tell has shaped my thoughts about ethnicity and culture and identity so much over the last few years (especially this last one that I spent in Japan).

My biggest story that I worked on at the Hawaii Herald was about visiting the Japanese Cultural Center’s exhibit on Japanese plantation workers in Hawaii and discussing what I learned about my familial background and heritage, with my own ancestors being among these plantation workers.

For the story, I interviewed my grandmother as well, talking to her about growing up in Hawaii as a third-generation Japanese American, as well as her experiences dancing hula and traveling to Japan to perform — a clear bridge between her Japanese blood and her roots in Hawaii. In fact, she used to always say that she “introduced hula to Japan,” which my parents, Kolby and I would always laugh off because that just really felt like a stretch LOL.

Honestly though, a part of me believed her at least a little bit, because even in my little town in Ibaraki, coworkers told me that they were interested in dancing hula or had done so for several years. Even a few weeks ago when I was working at an English camp for elementary school students, one of the university students volunteering immediately lit up when she found out I was from Hawaii as she carefully picked out the words to tell me that she danced hula since she was in elementary school.

So in a very predictable move on my part after I found out about my grandmother’s death, I searched for the article online to read it again. Why? Perhaps to feel closer to her, to remember and honor her, or even to attempt to learn something new about her.

And as I reread the article, I realized rather belatedly that during that time that my grandmother had lived in Japan for a year to perform hula, she was around the same age that I am now — a synchronicity that the version of myself who wrote that article could have never predicted, and that the version of myself now could hardly believe.

My grandmother’s pride in being Japanese is something I could never forget about her. I still remember the time that my family went to a Japanese restaurant for a family dinner in Hawaii and my cousin ordered a steak, to which my grandmother responded, “Are you even Japanese?” There was another time in college that I FaceTimed my dad while he was visiting my grandmother. I was doing homework for my Japanese class on the call, and to my surprise, she knew all the Japanese vocabulary words for random cooking terms that I needed to memorize for a test the next day.

But my grandmother was born in Hawaii (as was I), and her time living in Japan was limited to a few years maximum (I don’t know the exact amount of time she spent here and obviously I can’t ask anymore). In a way, my own journey with my Japanese identity is, although not a perfect recreation, a mirror of hers — spending formative time abroad, making new friends (my grandmother chose my Japanese name, Eri, after a Japanese singer and actress that she befriended while performing), and I’m sure for the both of us, learning and growing in this place that is so deeply precious to both of us.

Despite being so geographically far away from her for the last year, I suddenly felt a sense of proximity with her that felt newer and closer than the relationship we already had before. In the midst of grieving alone, this revelation felt like the warmest metaphorical hug — a reminder that throughout this time I’m spending in Japan, I’ll never truly be alone.

I’m actually going back home to Hawaii tomorrow to be with my family for the next few days (maybe the grieving will be easier when I can mourn in company). However, if I wasn’t, I probably would have gone to Tokyo again like I usually do on the weekends. Recently, I found a very nifty TikTok account that posts events and festivals happening in Tokyo and in the Kanto region every week (I followed, because a recent goal I’ve adopted is to try to go to more authentic Japanese sites and experience more authentic Japanese cultural things in this next year that I’ll be living here). Although I won’t be in Tokyo this weekend, I scrolled through the list of events anyway and paused when I saw that the Tokyo Hula Festival will be held in Ikebukuro this weekend.

At this event, over 2,500 hula dancers will perform at a huge three-day festival uniting Tokyo with Hawaii. This year, I think my grandmother will be watching too, and I can envision her smiling so brightly, her hands and hips flowing with all the grace and beauty in the universe as she dances alongside them <3

When I signed my contract with my English teaching program and committed to a year abroad last August, that year I had signed away sounded like a really, really long time. But now that I’m nearing the tail end of that first year and have a whole second year to go, I can’t really tell if I think that a year is something that is short or something that is long.

I think that you’ll be happy to hear that since I moved to my new schools two months ago, I finally feel that I’ve found a comfortable routine again. My job feels a lot more normal again, and weirdly, the day-to-day life that I live in my countryside town has begun to feel almost like my baseline — something I could maintain for a while longer. I suppose this feeling is a bit overdue, but as so many alumni of this program told me before I left Hawaii 11 months ago, “A year just isn’t enough time! By the time you’re finally adjusted to Japan, you’ll already have to leave.”

Obviously, at least some part of me definitely agrees with this, considering my choice to extend my stay here and do this all over again for a second time. When I really sit and think about it, I do think that leaving Japan in two months would leave me unsatisfied, and I’d probably already be mourning the quiet Japanese countryside life I have now.

However, I am nothing if not an existentialist. I remember a conversation I had when I was still living in Hawaii during my first year after graduating from college with a friend in a similar situation. I remember sitting at my desk in my bedroom in my parents’ house as we talked about job searching and moving out, before it became a deeper discussion about stability and finality: When will I be done moving around? When will I find a job that I want to stay and grow in? (This question is one that I think a lot of people my age are wrestling with, especially when you consider this Gen Z career survey that found that only one in four respondents are “committed to their current role for the foreseeable future”) When will I stop feeling like I’m taking breaks before my “real adult life” begins?

The concept of time gives me a lot of anxiety. When I go through my spirals over what the fuck I’m doing with my life, I always feel like I never have enough of it, like it’s slipping through my fingertips faster than I can register, like I’ll always be running just a little bit later than I should.

I feel it in pretty much every corner of my life. Is spending another year in Japan the right choice, or is it just delaying my entry into the workforce even more, to the point where I’ll eventually be so far out of college and equally inexperienced that I’m worthless? Is continuing to learn about myself and my roots here a meaningful solution, or is it just causing me to miss out on cultivating my precious pre-existing friendships and making new ones with people I’ll theoretically be able to maintain them with more easily? Is another year’s worth of K-pop concerts in Asia a worthwhile decision, or is it just pushing back and further complicating my process of finding a real person to engage in a relationship with?

As we approach the one-year mark — the mark in which another version of me in another dimension of this life did choose to go back to the U.S. — I can’t help but wonder. Would I feel like time is moving slower? Would I have the answers to these theoreticals and what-ifs? Would I finally feel at least a little closer to being satisfied?

This feeling is amplified by the fact that most of the few friends I have who live in Ibaraki will be leaving Japan in August, going off to pursue graduate education or getting a job or just moving back home to get that start on their stable life. Indirectly, it makes me wonder what I’m still doing here if the people that play such a large part in my life here won’t be.

Maybe you’ve gotten to this point in my blog entry and you feel the urge to reach through your computer or phone or whatever device you’re reading this on’s screen and put your hands on my shoulders to shake some sense into me. Maybe you’re thinking, “Kacie, stop being ungrateful! You have such a cool life in Japan and you’re doing so many awesome things!,” or “Kacie, stop being fatalistic! Life is anything but linear, and you can take this time to do things that are meaningful outside of a traditional context!,” or “Kacie, stop being stupid! You’re so young and you have so much time in this long life ahead!”

Actually, I recently found a point of relief: this graphic that’s included in almost every culture shock presentation I sat through during my English teaching program’s 20 million introductory orientations. It’s a relic at this point, but it depicts the “typical culture shock cycle” in relation to one’s “normal level of feeling” as a line graph over the months of their first year — rising shortly after arrival in Japan, dipping through the winter months, before peaking again around March through May.

A version of this graphic was shown to me so many times while I was preparing for and first starting this new chapter of my life, so it’s a little embarrassing that I didn’t remember it in its entirety until I dug it up again a few days ago. Honestly, I kind of forgot that after one goes through the so-called “accommodation” phase, they apparently go through another dip: the “frustration” phase, which just so happens to occur around June and July, which just so happens to be right around now. Isn’t that interesting?

But as the name suggests, I guess culture shock really is a cycle. In fact, you can even track my progress in this cycle on this blog — wasn’t it just last month that I said my life was feeling like a dream? I must have been very well accommodated then. And even before I began writing this monthly public diary, the traces of my culture shock are detailed in my first entry’s summary of the first few months here as I dealt with loneliness and invisible foreigner syndrome.

But like any rough patch in one’s life, these feelings and hardships are neither permanent nor all-consuming. I guess it’s up to the individual to find ways to pick yourself up and keep climbing.

So let’s try this together. When I look at my life in Japan in the foreseeable future, I see this rough patch that I’m currently in — the questions of if I’m wasting time, if this experience is foolish, if I’ll ever be satisfied.

But if I look a little further, I see another peak. There are so many more prefectures I want to visit, concerts I want to see, friends I want to make, conversations I want to have, things I want to learn. And yes, these things will take time — time that I could definitely spend getting a graduate degree or a job to further my career, or dating a guy who’s actually nice to me to move towards starting a family, or living in an affordable, stable city to decide if it’s a place I want to live in for more than just a few years.

But I’ve always been one to say that life is really cyclical too. Maybe even when I finally feel like I’m actually satisfied, I’ll still be moving through these peaks and valleys that make this life every bit as challenging and bittersweet and wonderful as it is.

So, as I move through this lull, I’m trying to remember that advice that so many alumni of this program gave me before I left Hawaii. It was twofold, of course — “A year just isn’t enough time! The second year is where you can really enjoy Japan.”

Now that that first year is almost over, I guess all I can from now is really enjoy every bit of the time I still have left here. And around this time next year (when I’ll maybe have moved towards being just a little bit more satisfied), I hope — no, I bet — that I’ll be looking back on that cycle feeling everything but regret.

PS: Here are some photos from my life over the past month! It’s been a bit slow lately because my K-pop groups have been a bit inactive in Asia recently (Stray Kids is currently on the U.S. leg of their world tour, and who knows what ZB1 is doing lately) so no concerts :”( I’m also trying to save money to pay for my upcoming mandatory car inspection, known as shaken (車検), which has resulted in me trying (albeit loosely) to go on fewer weekend trips and buy less needless things. I’m going to Osaka next week to visit my friend and go to the Osaka World Expo next week though, so clearly I’m doing a great job with that LOL :P

For those unfamiliar with how the process of changing your foreign driver’s license to a Japanese one in Ibaraki-ken works, let me break it down briefly for you below. Multiple appointments are necessary for this process, but you have to go to the Ibaraki Prefectural Driver’s License Center in person to make your first appointment during their designated reception hours for this purpose (weekdays between 3 and 4:30 p.m.) After you’ve made your first appointment, you return to the same location a second time to review your documents and take your written test. After you pass, you’re required to make a second appointment to return again and take your practical test, which has very particular rules and specifications to adhere to in order to pass. And after you pass that, you’ll successfully receive your Japanese driver’s license. All of this can take months at a minimum.

As you can probably tell from that brief breakdown, all of this is extremely annoying considering the fact that you already have a license. Why do you have to go in person during a relatively short window of time just to make an appointment? Why can’t the DMV people review your documents on the same day? What if you don’t pass the practical test on the first try even though you can already drive?

One of the requirements for working at my town’s Board of Education under my program is owning and driving a car, because all of the schools that our town’s assistant English teachers work at are far enough to require driving. To drive in Japan up until I received my Japanese driver’s license (today!!), I used an International Driver’s Permit that I obtained in Hawaii before I moved here that was valid for a year.

After months of procrastinating, I finally went to make that first appointment, along with my coworker who also renewed her contract, in the middle of May.

Thankfully, certain countries and U.S. states (Hawaii included) have a partnership with the Japanese government that allows for a driver’s license conversion without having to take a written or practical test. So despite my procrastination, when I showed the worker my documents and my Hawaii license, they immediately responded, “Ah, your license is from Hawaii! It’ll be fast. Can you come back in two weeks?”

So I showed up again at the licensing center for my appointment today, this time with an “interpreter” from my town’s BOE — a man I had never met before named Hirayama-sensei who spoke very little English. I brought all of my documents, including a copy of my W2 form as proof of my residency in the U.S., and I was ready to be in and out of the licensing center with a shiny new Japanese driver’s license. My appointment time on my reservation sheet was listed as 12:45 to 1 p.m., so naturally, I assumed this would be quick.

At the licensing center window, Hirayama-sensei was trying his best to help me fill out the paperwork by simplifying Japanese words into even simpler Japanese words, which would probably only be helpful to people who actually speak Japanese but worked well enough for us, as the worker checked my documents. I noticed after I finished my paperwork though that the worker was staring at my W2 form, so I explained as best I could that it was proof of my residency in the U.S.

However, for anyone who may be converting their driver’s license in Ibaraki anytime soon, a W2 form does not include any actual dates on it beyond the year it applies to, and is therefore not proof of your residency for at least 90 days in the country you received your license in. Hirayama-sensei and the worker asked me if I had any other proof — utility bills, monthly paystubs, employment certifications — and of course, I had none of these things. My phone was beginning to overheat as I searched through my email for anything, before offering up my old mileage reports and Excel timesheets from when I worked at the Star-Advertiser. I think Hirayama-sensei and I stood there at the window for around 20 minutes as I scrolled through my phone frantically searching for anything I could have as proof, because there was no way in hell that I was not getting this license today.

The worker then asked if I went to university in the U.S. Maybe, he said, if I could log into my university system, that could serve as evidence of my residence in the U.S. This would have been a perfect solution if I had come to the licensing center last month, before USC shut down my email and access to its systems.

I was honestly feeling really hopeless about this at this point, until I remembered that I had downloaded some of my old USC documents to my laptop, which was sitting in my car in the parking lot outside. The worker, probably feeling more pity for me than anything, gave me a pass on this and said I could go find a document and show it to the next worker during my interview.

So after retrieving my laptop from my car, Hirayama-sensei and I sat on a bench in the driver’s licensing center and I finally pulled up my USC transcript, equipped with dates for each of the semesters I was a student there. Hirayama-sensei checked it with me, and in a very reassuring tone, he said the Japanese equivalents of these three phrases: “Maybe it’s OK!,” “Perhaps it’s OK,” and “It should be OK!” — the last one being OK hazu (はず).

We sat on that bench for over an hour after that, and I kept telling Hirayama-sensei that I was so stressed and worried, communicating in a mixture of my broken Japanese and his broken English with assistance from Google Translate. The conversation eventually evolved into talking about Stray Kids (apparently his high school-aged daughter is also a fan), places I want to visit in Japan, the schools I work at and ways for him to improve his English. He even showed me a really awesome video of his daughter doing shodo (Japanese performance calligraphy) while we waited.

As we sat, he asked me what I would do after this was all over (because at this point it was already over an hour since we had gotten there). I responded that I’d probably just go back home, and he said, “Ah, you won’t hang out in Mito or anything before?”

Mito is the capital of Ibaraki, and is about a 15 minute drive from the licensing center. It’s also the closest thing to a “city” that we have around my town, and I like to go there on the weekends sometimes. So I responded, “Ah, maybe after all of this, I will,” and he laughed.

Finally, my name was called to do my interview. I nervously showed the worker my transcript, which Hirayama-sensei explained showed each of the dates of my enrollment. The worker asked if the transcript had the name of my university and its address in the U.S., and then asked to see the website I downloaded it from. Luckily, all of this seemed to suffice as she moved onto the next questions on her checklist — asking how old I was when I got my license, if I went to driver’s ed classes, what the road test consisted of, and if I had ever gotten into traffic accidents in Hawaii.

Then, she had me email the transcript to the licensing center’s email address, and said I could go sit and wait again.

So Hirayama-sensei and I sat and waited and talked some more. At one point, our conversation turned into him commenting on how inaccessible this system is for foreigners. Through Google Translate, he told me that there should be workers here who speak English and that it’s a system that is specifically difficult for those who don’t speak Japanese.

After a lot of complaining about this with my other foreign friends, it was honestly quite refreshing to complain about it with someone who was actually Japanese.

I’ll be honest — a lot of my experiences in Japan have been really awesome, and I feel like I’ve been able to participate in them at the same level or ability as a Japanese person. For example, K-pop concerts are the same for me as they are for the Japanese people I sit next to, I’m able to navigate train systems well enough that I can get on and off trains that have no English directions, and my face is Japanese passing enough that no one bats an eye at me when I walk around (even Hirayama-sensei told me today that if I didn’t say anything and someone just looked at me, I pass as a Japanese person).

But at the same time, there are also a lot of things in Japan that are impossible to experience in the same way when you’re a foreigner, with language understanding being such a high barrier to access for much of it. Apparently, getting a driver’s license is one of those things, even though driving is pretty much the same no matter where in the world you’re doing it (besides the driving on the left or right side of the road thing).

Sitting in that driver’s licensing center, for the first time in a really long time, I felt very, very foreign. I wouldn’t say I’m the most knowledgeable about cars or driving when asked in English, let alone in Japanese. I could barely remember what was required of me to get my license in Hawaii (which I did six years ago) or what the road test was like, and not being able to fully explain what I did remember was frustrating in a way that I haven’t felt in a long time.

At this point, Hirayama-sensei and I had been waiting for almost three hours. I apologized, telling him that I had no idea this would take so long, because I assumed he must be busy with his actual work and chaperoning this random American girl to the DMV was probably a waste of time, to which he responded, “No, I’m having fun.” I apologized again for not being prepared with my documents, to which he responded “OK hazu” again — that everything should be OK.

And thankfully, this kind man I had never met before today was right, because I was asked to do an eye test and take my picture and finally, I was walking out of the licensing center’s doors for the final time with my shiny new Japanese driver’s license in hand.

Honestly, despite Hirayama-sensei not being the best interpreter in the world (he did his best for someone who was supposed to interpret into a language he literally doesn’t speak), I’m really, really glad that I wasn’t alone at the licensing center. And as I said goodbye to my new friend, he said, “I’ll study English more after today!”

And with him in mind, I decided that I would go hang out in Mito to reward myself after the three annoying, yet fun, hours I spent at the Japanese DMV.

So that’s where I wrote the majority of this blog post — sitting in a Starbucks connected to a bookstore in Mito Station while I people watched the Japanese high schoolers hanging out with their friends or crushes after school, the company workers and older adults passing through the store, the baristas taking orders at their counter and the bookstore workers ringing up customers at their register.

To accompany my writing, I ordered a coffee and tried a new lemon cake that was being promoted. When I ordered the cake, the barista randomly asked me if I liked iced coffee. I was like, “I guess?,” and she responded saying that she’d give me a sample to try with the cake. While this interaction seems very minuscule, please remember that I live in Japan, so this was all conducted in Japanese.

You might remember from my first entry on this blog that every interaction I have in public in Japan is like a little test to see if I can pass as someone who belongs here. A complete interaction in Japanese feels like a success, and a break into English or confused looks from the other person feels like a failure.

And after a day of “failing,” I passed this lemon cake test. As Hirayama-sensei would say, OK hazu — everything should (and will!!) be OK.

Prefacing this entry by saying this post is extremely, extremely long, so I’m sorry.

Every time the middle of the month (and the internal blog post deadline I hold myself to) approaches, I sit at my computer during my work desk warming hours and usually struggle to think of something to write about.

I’ve said this before, but I honestly feel like my life in Japan has been like one extremely long vacation. My day job serves as a means to an end — the end being traveling both domestically and internationally almost every weekend. In fact, because of my placement in rural Ibaraki, I often spend more time commuting to these places than actually doing whatever it is I went to these destinations for to begin with. Honestly, it feels pretty stupid sometimes. In Japanese, there’s actually a really great word to describe this — taihen (大変), which I would roughly translate to “difficult” or “tough.” It’s actually the word I receive a lot from people when they hear about the lengths of my travels.

But clearly, the taihen nature of my travels does very little to stop me because since my last entry, I spent zero weekends at my apartment in Ibaraki. Instead, over the past four weekends, I went to Seoul, Tokyo, Taipei and Shizuoka (LOL).

Weekend 1 - Seoul

Believe it or not, I spent Easter weekend in Seoul at a K-pop group’s fan concert for the second year in a row this year (LOL). This was also the third time I’ve traveled to Seoul to see ZB1 since I moved to Japan in August (LOL).

It’s a little difficult (and a little embarrassing) to explain why I like K-pop (and ZB1 specifically) so much to someone that isn’t necessarily a K-pop fan themselves, but please bear with me as I attempt to do so to you right now. It’s not a secret that I’ve been a pretty intense K-pop fan since high school, but I think moving to Japan has definitely allowed me to really capitalize on this interest out of both pure proximity to Korea, but also in terms of the sheer amount of events, campaigns and activities that my groups have catered specifically to their Japanese audiences.

I went to Korea for the first time since moving here last September to see ZB1’s Seoul stop of their Timeless World tour. The trip came at a time when I was honestly really struggling with my recent move — working in schools for the first time and adjusting to living in an entirely new country — so much so that I was counting down the days for weeks until I could board the plane to Incheon for that concert, where I knew that all of my worries and sadness would be rendered so irrelevant by the sheer presence of my favorite idols breathing the same air in that concert venue as I was.

After that concert in September, I came back to Japan feeling so refreshed and happy. I can still distinctly remember sitting on the airport shuttle bus from Narita International Airport to Mito Station, the closest “big” station to the one that services my town, and thinking, “Doing stuff like this makes all of the bad stuff about Japan worth it.”

Now, I think my living and working situation has changed a lot (thankfully for the better) as I’ve gotten a bit more adjusted to this new lifestyle, but that feeling of relief and happiness every time I see ZB1 still hasn’t completely gone away. In fact, I guess I really couldn’t get enough of it, considering I saw ZB1 perform at least once every month since that September concert.

The fan concert I attended this past month was definitely one of my favorites though. It’s been a while since ZB1 has held a solo concert, so I was really excited to see everything that they prepared, including a lot of covers and special stages! It was also really awesome because I got really lucky when one of the members directly handed me a signed ball when the members paraded around the arena on carts (here’s my TikTok video of it if you want to see LOL).

I was also able to meet up with some of my friends while I was in town, and also did some non-related ZB1 activities while there, like visiting a really yummy cafe in Seongsu and stocking up on my Korean cosmetics, stationery and clothing items at Coex.

Weekend 2 - Tokyo

After coming back from Seoul, I worked for a week before heading to Tokyo for the weekend. Coincidentally, my friend Sydney, who is also working as an English teacher in Japan, reached out to me about meeting in Tokyo on the same weekend that my friend Krista, who I’ve known since the sixth grade, would be visiting from the U.S.

Maybe this is just me, but I always get a little nervous about my friends meeting each other. My mom told me once that I shouldn’t get nervous about this, because I like all of my friends and all of my friends like me, so therefore, they should all like each other too (because they all like me). I can’t stop myself from getting anxious about this though.

Luckily, I think Sydney and Krista clicked right away. It’s really awesome to see how friends you’ve known for basically your whole life can mesh well with friends you’ve known only since August, even within the span of a few hours. We spent the afternoon together in Shibuya, eating yakiniku and shopping before we went out for the night.

I’ve been pretty honest about the fact that living in Japan has been a bit of a challenge for me socially, especially with there being very few foreigners in my vicinity and me being one of just two new people on my program living in my prefecture this year. While I still complain a lot as I navigate this challenge, I think one thing that I’ve gained from it is the simple gratitude and value I have for the time I do get to spend with my friends.

I wouldn’t say I’m someone who has a really large number of friends, but I do think that I have enough that sometimes makes me under appreciate the time that I get to spend with them. When I was in college, I could see my friends everyday, because I feel like I did almost nothing alone — every class spent sitting next to someone, every meal spent eating with someone, every weekend spent doing something fun and exciting with someone. Even in my post-grad year back in Hawaii, I could always text someone to get lunch at Ala Moana with me or spend hours just sitting with me in my car in a parking lot somewhere. These experiences are ones I’ve realized were luxuries, now that they are much fewer and far between.

Of course, hanging out with my friends in Shibuya can be considered something that is very exciting and novel, and because of that, maybe it makes sense that these outings are rarer than the coffees I’d share with my friends at Dulce or the Nordstrom E-Bar. But I think that I could have done anything with Sydney and Krista that weekend and I would have come away from it feeling the same, because the fun I had that weekend in Tokyo came not from the club with the beautiful open air rooftop we spent our night at, but from the people that I went there with.

Weekend 3 - Taipei

The past month also happens to encompass Golden Week, a period of Japanese national holidays falling around the end of April through the beginning of May. The holidays usually align to create opportunities for long holiday breaks, making it one of the most popular times of year for Japanese people to travel. Naturally, I took full advantage of this and went on my first trip to Taipei for a few days to visit my friends Nicole and Koko, who are both working in Taiwan on the Fulbright Program.

If I’m being completely honest, I knew almost nothing about Taiwan before this trip. I’ve fallen into a pretty familiar travel routine at this point — I go to the places I know and I do the things that I like — so when Nicole and Koko asked me if there was anything in particular that I wanted to do or see while I was in Taipei, I pretty much had no answer.

This was also my first time visiting a new foreign country in about a year and a half, which is something that probably should have intimidated me more than it did at the time, as I speak absolutely no Chinese, had never navigated any sort of Taiwanese public transportation systems before, didn’t (and still don’t) know the conversion rate between U.S. dollars and New Taiwan dollars, and again, had prepared basically no itinerary.

So I guess that it’s no surprise that I was completely overwhelmed when I arrived in Taiwan. I told Koko over bowls of beef noodle soup this explicitly, because the country just naturally felt so different from Japan or Korea or the U.S., and I didn’t understand what anyone was saying, and how much was this bowl of beef noodles actually?

Luckily, my awesome friends spent so much of their time and energy giving me a crash course in Taiwan, where I learned a total of four new phrases in Chinese, ate some of the best food I’ve had in a really long time (I still regularly think about the hotpot meat waterfall Nicole and I ate on my last night), and saw some beautiful scenery from the Taipei 101 building and the Maokong gondolas. They even took me to a Taiwanese love temple, where I prayed to the Taiwanese gods for my love intentions (I’ll update if any of that comes to fruition LOL).

But amid all of the exciting new things that I was seeing and doing and eating in this new place, as I reflect on this vacation now, I think I can look back on my time in Taipei with so much fondness because I spent that time with people that I consider to be two of my closest friends — Nicole, who was one of my best friends at USC, and Koko, who I’ve been close with since elementary school — that I rarely get to see in person anymore.

Honestly, I was feeling overwhelmed and tired and bitchy and hot (because Taipei is apparently a lot more humid than Ibaraki in early May) for a lot of the three days I was there. But I’m really honored and touched by the amount of care and effort Nicole and Koko put in to making this new experience one that was meaningful for me — a reflection, I think, of the care and effort they put into their friendships with me.

I think I’m someone who gets overwhelmed pretty easily in a lot of situations — whether it’s a new physical environment, a new situational change at work, or a friendship dynamic shift. But I think that it’s really valuable to realize that there are things and people in your life that can and will remain constant, even when things around you are transforming into things that you don’t necessarily recognize. Thank you to Nicole and Koko for being that for me.

Weekend 4 - Shizuoka

Still exhausted from international travel, I worked for three more days in Ibaraki before I took an overnight bus from Tokyo to Shizuoka last weekend to see my other favorite K-pop group at their first stadium concert in Japan.

Leave it to Stray Kids to get me to take a random weekend trip to the middle of nowhere — home to Mt. Fuji, Shizuoka is a seaside prefecture situated almost perfectly in between Tokyo and Nagoya (a little over an hour away from both by bullet train). It’s famous for green tea, sakura shrimp (tiny shrimp harvested from a bay in the prefecture), and their own regional gyoza variant. It was also nowhere on my bucket list of places to visit while living in Japan.

When Stray Kids announced that they would be holding their concert at the prefecture’s Ecopa Stadium, I was very, very annoyed. The venue was far and inconvenient, and arranging transportation and lodging was proving difficult with the sheer number of other fans trying to do the exact same thing. While I was obviously excited to see Stray Kids perform, frankly, I was dreading going through all of the logistics to make that happen. Add on the high chances of rain for both days of the concert (because Stray Kids is notorious for bringing rain everywhere they go when they perform), and the weekend was looking a lot more taihen than it needed to be.

But despite my initial apprehension, getting around Shizuoka and the venue proved to be a lot easier than I had expected. I was able to meet up with another one of my friends who’s teaching English in Japan, and I was so happy to spend two nights with Stray Kids celebrating such a huge accomplishment for them here in Japan. I’ve been a fan of Stray Kids since high school, so my heart always feels so fulfilled when I go to their concerts — especially ones where they fill venues with capacities of over 50,000 people.

I’ve always thought that Stray Kids concerts might be the time and place when I feel the happiest, because when I’m at their concerts, all of my stresses and worries become so irrelevant as I focus completely on the moments that I’m sharing with them. This hyper awareness is aided by Japan’s no filming policy at concerts — with my phone relegated to my bag on the floor under my seat, I’m forced to focus all of my attention to what’s happening in front of me.

Lately, I’ve been struggling with being present. Maybe it’s a symptom of me being chronically online, but I find myself moving through my life pretty passively. Even when I’m doing something fun (like going to Seoul or Tokyo or Taipei or Shizuoka), I feel myself just going through the motions, searching for moments that would be good to capture for the highlight reel of my life (my Instagram story), or making plans for the next thing to look forward to even before the awesome thing that I’m currently doing is over yet.

Maybe that’s why I spend so much time outside of Ibaraki, making plans for things that are more cool, more exotic, more fun. Maybe a part of me even thinks that these things are more fulfilling.

But before I bash myself for not being present in Ibaraki and at my day job (it’s currently 12:18 p.m. as I write this sitting at work, instead of doing something more relevant to the good of this random junior high school), after writing and reflecting about the awesome things I got to do this past month, I realize how much of my memory of these experiences is reliant on my wholehearted enjoyment in those moments in time — the stove at my table at the gamjatang restaurant in Korea that wouldn’t stay lit, the salty seafood-based broth of the ramen I ate the day after my night out in Tokyo, the new purse I bought from a random shop I walked past in Taipei, and the people I shared these sweet bits of time and life with.

One of the last songs Stray Kids sings at their concert on this leg of the tour is a song called Blind Spot. It’s one of my favorite Stray Kids songs ever, and as they sing the final chorus, a message appears across the large screens of the stage asking the audience to take out their phones and turn on their phone flashlights. The entire arena shines at that moment, and for the last few seconds of that song, the crowd is so bright in a way that I’m trying to describe but can’t find the right words to explain. I think it’s just a moment you’d have to be present in to understand.

I want to end this monstrosity of a blog entry by saying that although I spent most of my free time outside of Ibaraki this past month, I did spend one really wonderful day in Ibaraki at the Hitachi Seaside Park, about a 35-minute drive from my house, with my coworker. We went at the peak blooming of the nemophila, which are tiny pastel flowers that colored multiple hills blue. It was another day when I felt truly present — the vibrant flowers were so much more beautiful viewed through my own eyes rather than my phone screen (or my now hazy memory), the weather was perfectly sunny with a soft breeze, the nemophila soft serve sweet and cold as it melted on my tongue. Everything felt like I was moving through the most realistic, vivid dream of my life.

I guess that’s what my life is like lately though — like a dream, only very, very real.

I’m pretty embarrassed that I’m saying this on this very public forum I’ve created for myself, but honestly, all I do on this blog is overshare things about my life to anyone who wants to hear it (as always, thank you for the read!)

I guess I think genuineness is underrated, or maybe I’m just some sort of demented emotional exhibitionist, but regardless of how one characterizes these confessions of my daily life, I hope that someone (maybe even you…) can find value in the vulnerability that floods the words I write on the digital pages of this public diary as I wrestle with this in real time.

In my last post, I wrote about new beginnings — the upcoming new school year amid the looming spring — and how change is beneficial, even if it comes at a time when you don’t particularly want it or feel that it’s necessary.

Since writing that blog entry, the new school year has started and spring has finally come (thank god for temperatures upwards of 60 degrees again — I even wore a sundress for the first time in forever last weekend!) The change has come.

I knew the changes were coming, but lately, I’ve been feeling more reminiscent than usual about what things were like before. I reread my last post, where I wrote that “I think that I’m generally someone who’s flexible and receptive to change,” which feels ironic now because I don’t think I’ve been adjusting as well to my life’s most recent series of changes as I had hoped I would.

I started working at two new schools last week, and since this change took place, I was reminded just how much I value stability and familiarity. Even the little things have begun to annoy me — not knowing which cubby to put my outdoor shoes in when I arrive in the morning, not knowing what time the lunch period ends so I’m rushing to finish the last of my food when the groundskeeper is already beginning to pack the dishes away, not knowing the layout of the school well enough yet and walking around aimlessly until I finally find the room where the English teacher I’m supposed to accompany is already waiting and wondering what took me so long (sorry!!!!!!).

Generally, I’ve been trying to give myself and others more grace. I’ll be honest… this goal mainly started because I was mad at myself for not being able to get over a guy as fast as I wanted to (lol). It made me realize how quick I am to judge my friends going through various challenges about various things — while I know I meant well, phrases like “You deserve better!,” “Stand up!,” and “He/She/They’re a bitch!!” only help someone so much.

Sometimes, I think people (myself included) need their feelings to be acknowledged — that even if the person does deserve better or needs to stand up, that doesn’t change that their situation still sucks and that their feelings are still real.

I think this practice is also applicable here. So, here’s me reminding myself this: I’m sitting here and writing about how much I hate change, and I hate this change in particular because I feel like everyone around me thinks I’m stupid and incompetent for not adjusting “fast enough.”

However, it is literally only Monday of the second week at these new schools, meaning I’ve only been in the new schools for six (6) days. People aren’t expecting me to know everything right away, with the sole reason for this being that things changed.

In fact, there’s literally a name for this adjustment time: fittingly, a “grace period.” There is time to make mistakes, to adjust, to figure things out as you go.

Perhaps the reason behind a lot of my current crisis is a lack of grace — grace I’ve actually been on the receiving end of, but can never figure out how to show myself. I feel so uncomfortable and confused, but honestly, I think I’m the only person punishing myself for feeling this way. My new students who told me what areas of the classroom to clean as I stood there like a Sim holding my broom, the coworker who patiently walked me to the gym so I could watch new student orientation with her, the teacher who complimented my makeup and nails and asked me to eat lunch with her on my first day — they’ve all shown me this grace that I desire and that I deserve.

And although this discomfort I feel like I’m stuck in right now feels so permanent, what’s become abundantly clear to me ever since I moved to Japan is what a facade permanence really is. I talk and think a lot about how everything is changing around me so quickly. So, it’s ironic that when things are hard, I just assume that they’ll remain that way forever, when in reality, that sense of permanence is a luxury.

I suppose this reflection on impermanence and grace comes at a thematically appropriate time, as it arrived just as sakura (cherry blossom) season is coming to a close. For some reason, before this year, I didn’t realize how short sakura season really is. I saw some vibrant plum blossoms in Kiba earlier last month that TikTok falsely claimed were sakura (and to my lack of knowledge, I believed…).

But I was finally able to do some proper hanami (flower viewing) last week in Tokyo! I went with a friend to the last weekend of Ueno’s Cherry Blossom Festival, and despite the crowds, it really was unlike anything I had ever seen before. I finally understood why people made such a big deal out of this. We sat on a rock (the only seat we could find LOL) and ate yakisoba and drank beer together, and I was really excited to do it all over again the next week.

But when I went this past weekend to Yoyogi Park with a different friend, I was surprised to see that so many of the trees there were already bare, with all the remnants of the pale pink flowers littering the ground instead. In just a few days, these trees looked so different — the changes had come. I don’t know if this is the right forum for me to personify sakura trees (and I’m sure that’s already been done), but in light of what I’ve been feeling lately, the fleeting beauty of sakura season is holding an abnormal amount of significance for me at the moment.

Obviously, I still have a lot of time left in Japan — another year and four months (if nothing changes.) This most recent set of changes in my work environment is far from the last I’ll encounter while I’m here (in fact, I’ll probably go through this exact set of school changes at least one more time before I leave, which I clearly can’t wait for, and thankfully, I’ll definitely get another sakura season too). Although I can’t promise anything (I’m a realist), I will try my best not to freak out this much about it next time. (This post feels very fatalistic for some reason, so I will leave it at that).

PS: Despite me feeling like everything is batshit crazy in my work life, I’ve had no shortage of fun to make up for it in my personal life! Here are some photos from when my family came to visit me a few weeks ago! It was so healing to spend a few weeks with them in Ibaraki and Tokyo. My mom actually did the same English teaching program back in the 90s, so showing her and my dad parts of my life in my version of this chapter was so heartwarming for me — driving them around in my car, taking them to a local izakaya and seeing them in my countryside apartment all felt a little unreal.

My brother joined us in Tokyo a few days later, and it was so nice to enjoy Japan as a temporary tourist for a week. We ate sooooooo good — multiple days of yakiniku, ramen, curry — and sang karaoke with my mom’s former homestay family from when she taught English here, shopped in Odaiba, and even caught the beginnings of some hanami.

My friend and I also had a mini reunion in Tokyo this past weekend! Every time I see Rae, I feel like I reach my maximum levels of happiness <3 We hit up Tower Records in Shibuya, ate some really yummy beef bowls in Ikebukuro and switched out our normal Photoism photo booth routine for our first Purikura!

As for what’s next, I’m going to Seoul on Saturday to go to ZB1’s fan concert LOL (I guess maybe there are some things that really never change…) <33

It’s almost a little unnerving for me to be feeling this way, because I feel like I’ve finally come into a routine with my job and my daily life after spending the last six-ish months here in Japan.

I guess you can throw in the fact that it’s also the middle of March, which I’ve never really associated with new beginnings. When I was in school in the U.S., the middle of March was equivalent with spring vacation — a necessary break to take because you’re deep in the midst of everything.

But one day at school last week, I was eating lunch with the office lady there (who kindly befriended me, sending me pictures of her cats on LINE and inviting me to eat pizza with her at her house after work), and we were talking about how the weather was finally warming up because spring is finally here. She mentioned that everything feels like a new beginning for her right now — the flowers blooming ushers out the cold winter, and the Japanese school year ending in March before starting up again in April is a tangible signal of this new start. It made me think about a horoscope I was reading in Elite Daily, where it said new beginnings were on the way for me because the traditional astrological calendar also begins again in March, with the sign of Aries (which begins on March 21) starting off this separate type of calendar.

I never realized it before, but I suppose the spring is another societally acceptable time to refresh.

I started this blog just over two months ago (what). I remember when I finally sat down to write that post, we were already a few weeks into 2025. However, because those first few weeks were filled with a rough combination of travel, conjunctivitis and exhaustion, I remember delaying my real “refresh” until when it was an optimal time for me.

I also feel like I don’t really need the refresh right now, but I suppose one can’t always pick and choose when to start over.

So now that we’re resetting again (at least in Japan, and not by my choice), I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting lately on where I’m at with my life and what’s to come next. Although I may not like it, I think that I’m generally someone who’s flexible and receptive to change. I love the idea of a fresh start more than the average person, and I live for the opportunities to start anew — opening a new planner for the school year, starting to read a new book or watch a new series, adding a new step to my skincare routine.

In this way, resets are nice. They’re a chance to make changes, perhaps to fix things that aren’t working or aren’t fulfilling, or to try things that are new or daunting or challenging.

But of course, at the same time, what if I don’t want things to change?

I found out recently that beginning next school year in April, I’ll be switching one of the schools that I teach at. It’s a little frustrating for me, because I grew to really enjoy working at the school I’m losing — a combined elementary and junior high school — over the past few months. It’s the smallest school in my town, tucked into the dense forests of northern Ibaraki a 30-minute drive from my apartment, with student enrollment numbers of around 10-15 students per grade.

I recently attended the school’s graduation ceremony for its 12 junior high school third-year students. For the students graduating there, this year’s spring reset will be an even fresher, newer beginning for them as they transition into new places for high school — their first school switch since they began the first grade of elementary school.

I also attended the school’s third-year student recreation event, an annual tradition where the school’s first and second-year students plan games and activities to participate in with the third-year students as they celebrate them before their graduation. The event — the first Japanese school recreation program I’ve ever been to — included a quiz game about their school, a basketball free throw competition, and a spoof of the Time to Shine mini game from Super Mario Party.

It ended with video letters from the students and some of their former teachers, including a science teacher that used to be the third-year students’ homeroom teacher before he moved to another school last year (it’s customary in Japanese school systems for teachers to frequently switch schools, which I guess includes me as well).

The former homeroom teacher began his video letter with a greeting, before he addressed each student individually. Despite understanding maybe only 60% of what he was saying, my heart felt so warm watching this video of this man I’ve never met sharing inside jokes that could only be the result of this level of familiarity with his students. I even laughed with everyone in the gym when he specifically asked a student who sleeps in class everyday if he was awake and paying attention.

It reminded me of the last day of my legal writing seminar I took during my junior year at USC. My professor began class with a greeting, before he addressed each of us individually — talking about how each of our writing had developed, how our legal reasoning had strengthened (#lawclass LOL), and about how he’d seen us grow during that semester.

I remember in his comments to me, he told me that he was proud of me — a reference to me constantly asking him if he was proud of me when I went to office hours and telling him I’d make him proud every time I asked for extra help on refining my arguments when I couldn’t figure out what to do next. That specific piece of praise really stuck with me since then, especially because this professor is someone I consider to be one of the best writers I know, and I always feel really lucky when I get to learn how to write from people that I think are really good at writing.

It makes me think a lot about the role of a teacher as well — as someone that these kids can not only learn from in academia, but can also gain support from as they grow into people that will move about the world in meaningful ways.

Ever since I’ve moved to Japan and started this job, I’ve found myself constantly thinking about how different life is here than it is back home. Because I work in schools, I think about this a lot in relation to school life — when I eat kyushoku (school-provided lunches for elementary and junior high school students) with my students in their classrooms or when every student stops to greet me in the hallway, I can’t help but compare it to what my norm was like in Hawaii. I even notice it when I think about something as simple as the different structures of the American and Japanese school years. And every time I do this, I come away with the conclusion that Japanese culture and American culture are just very, very different.

But here, I found a similarity — the depth of care and attention that teachers have for their students as they prepare them to learn, to grow, to change. As I think about the looming changes as the trees in my town turn pink with new blossoms (and hay fever makes its way throughout my workplace), I’m contemplating how teachers help their students with their gradual resets, refreshes and changes everyday. They help their students bloom too.

So, when I move to my new school(s) next month, here’s to new beginnings for everyone! My job is definitely not this deep, and maybe I’m deriving too much meaning from all of this (a toxic trait of mine, thanks to my chronic overthinking tendency), but I really hope I can help my new students learn something, maybe about English, or maybe about America, or maybe about moving to a new country alone and just figuring everything out as you go.

And I hope I was able to help the ones I’m leaving too, if only just a little bit.

PS: Here are some photos from my favorite weekend of last month! I spent the February long weekend in Tokyo with my friend who currently lives in Osaka. We hit up the Tokyo National Museum’s temporary Hello Kitty Exhibition (my friend is a big Kitty fan LOL) and went to see a K-pop group we both really like at their Japan fan concert the next day. My friend and I first met because we both really like The Boyz, and we actually used to watch livestreams of their concerts together over FaceTime since 2022, so seeing their concert in person with her felt really full circle for me.

I’m also not really one to go to restaurants or attractions in Tokyo that go viral on JapanTok anymore, because 1. I live here now, and 2. these places are usually really crowded which honestly detracts from their appeal for me, but I finally crossed the very first viral Japan attraction I ever saved on Instagram — Kumachan Onsen in Shibuya — off my list.

Kumachan Onsen is a bear-themed shabu shabu hotpot restaurant that serves your hotpot broth in the form of a collagen jelly teddy bear! You can choose the color and flavor of the bear (my friend and I both got pink tonkotsu bears), as well as the meats (we both got sets with a little of everything — beef, pork, chicken and meatball) and starches (ramen, udon or rice cakes). The meal also comes with a drink and greens to eat as a salad or cook in the broth.

Overall, the meal was satisfying and very cute! I loved watching my bear enjoy his onsen (melt) before I could dip my food inside and begin eating. I made a reservation online in advance, which was easy (English interface) and accessible for anyone who’s coming to Tokyo anytime soon.

After this heartwarming weekend, I (insanely) extended it even further by spending 24 hours in Seoul celebrating ZB1’s album release. I went to the group’s pop-up experience at a mall in the city (spent a good amount of money….) and was also able to win a ticket to the group’s comeback showcase, where they performed some of the new songs from the album for the very first time. I was so happy celebrating the new album and spending that time with my K-pop idols in such close proximity :”).

I also saw some beautiful sakura in Tokyo last weekend, which feels like quite the thematically appropriate way to end this blog post :”)

My apartment and I welcomed our first overnight visitor a few weeks ago! We spent a lot of time preparing for her arrival — buying extra bedding, Swiffer-ing my floors, stocking up my fridge, and finally taking all the cardboard shipping boxes accumulating in my kitchen to my local recycling bin so that she wouldn’t think my home is disgusting.

Maybe I was overthinking all of this though, because my visitor was my dear friend Koko, who I’ve known since the third grade. I guess that knowing someone for almost 15 years negates a lot of small flaws a person could have, like their messy apartment or their inability to eat natto (despite living in the Japanese prefecture that allegedly has the best of it).

Koko kindly spent a weekend of her Japan trip with me in Ibaraki, where I showed her around my town, took her to Mito, and was able to catch up on all the late night conversations with her that were pending for the last seven months as we livedin different countries.

So when Koko left my apartment on the Monday morning after our few days together, I was really, really sad.

I haven’t exactly been secretive about how lonely my life in Japan has been, especially living in the random inaka town I do — the last bit of “city” (if you can even call it that) you encounter before you drive further north into the dense forests and mountains that eventually blend into the next prefecture over.

So I’m extremely grateful to Koko for trekking all the way, three hours out of Tokyo, to spend some time with me. For the first time since I moved in at the beginning of August, a voice that wasn’t my own filled my apartment’s walls. For the first time since I moved, my town really felt like home, because I got to share and enjoy it with someone else.

But not only did Koko coming to visit shape how I felt about my town (at least for the three days she was here), but also our friendship as a whole. I think that while we spent that time together, I learned a lot about her and became a lot closer with her. This newfound level of trust and closeness I have with her is the thing I’m most grateful to her for after her trip here.

In a way, Koko’s visit coincided a lot with the thoughts I’ve been having lately about what constitutes a friendship.

I’m not a stranger to the changing dynamics of relationships. I think with almost all of my close friends from college, the topic of maintaining friendships has been a running theme throughout every FaceTime call and text exchange we’ve had since we graduated almost two (!!) years ago. Maybe it’s not a surprise to anyone that going from living within walking distance to living a long-haul flight away can strain (or at least change) a relationship with someone.

It was a challenge navigating those changes when I lived in Hawaii for my first year post-grad. How do you go from having a lot of things in common just by circumstance, to having to rummage through your conversation toolkit in the back of your mind for something new to talk about on each sporadic phone call?

Even in Hawaii, I still had things in common with all of my friends — we were all navigating our first year out of college. Some of us were looking for new jobs and moving back in with our parents while others were doing teaching fellowships abroad or starting grad school. Some of us were comfortable in long-term romantic relationships while others were striking out yet again on Hinge.

But I guess another really big thing I had in common with my friends was that I lived in the U.S., even if it wasn’t on the continent like most of them.

So since moving abroad, I’ve really been thinking about how to best maintain my friendships even more. Perhaps it’s a combination of a severe lack of new friends in Japan and the fact that I’m so physically far from all of my existing friends, coupled with my own compulsive thoughts about this that I guess will just never die.

I have a lot of questions.

How often should I be communicating with my friends? Should I be texting them everyday, or is an “I saw this and I thought of you” TikTok every month enough? If we can’t talk for hours on FaceTime anymore, will we still be as close if we only communicate through texts sent at mismatched hours because we’re just never awake at the same time?

Do my friends think about me even though I’m not nearby? (I have an answer to this one — yes! Earlier this week, two of my best friends from college hung out with each other for the first time and the texts I got from both of them afterward about wishing I was there too were so heartwarming).

More than anything, I guess I’m wondering what’s required for a relationship to be considered a “friendship?”

After all my ruminating over the past few weeks and while sorting my thoughts out to spill my guts in this blog post, I think I’ve come to a conclusion I can be satisfied with. I think that every friendship is built upon commonalities. When forming new relationships with anyone, in any context, inherently there’ll be something that connects you — a shared job, a shared residence, a shared experience. I can name this initial commonality for all my friends.

As you grow closer to this new person and you actually become friends, I think you’ll naturally find more things you have in common with them — maybe you both like Stray Kids, or maybe you share similar values about things that are deeper than Stray Kids.

So, ideally, when your initial commonality — that shared job or residence or experience — fades away when it inevitably changes, these new commonalities will have replaced it, and your friendship will remain intact. I feel like this is evidenced by how friendships are allowed to change — no one who’s still friends with their best friend from kindergarten hasn’t noticed a shift in their friendship, right?

But I also think that commonalities aren’t the only thing necessary to a friendship. Maybe a commonality isn’t even necessary if there’s effort. I’ve always been a really big believer in reciprocity. I really think you should aim your energy towards those who can return it to you in full force.

Lately, I’ve been wondering if this just makes me sound needy, but I think any healthy relationship — romantic, familial or friendly — requires both parties to want to engage in it. Perhaps we can do so at different levels for each, because it would be exhausting and probably impossible to do the most for everyone, but I think showing the people you care about that you actually care is something I’d hope isn’t too much of an ask.

And after all of this thinking, I realized I’m not the best at this either.

So this week, I told myself I’d be honest about how I feel in my relationships with the people I share them with, and this Valentine’s Day, I hope I’m showered in all the love I receive in response to the love I’ll have given <3

I realized since I moved to Japan just over five months ago (whaaaat) that Japan is really far away from most of the people that make up my network. It’s been a lot harder for me to stay connected with my family and friends back in the U.S. due to time differences and sheer distance. This, combined with much fewer opportunities to flex the writing muscle in my brain, made me want to find a way to stay connected with my community back home. As we enter 2025, here is my wholehearted attempt to do so!

At the beginning of every new year, I’m someone who reflects deeply on the year before and sets meticulous goals for what I hope will occur in the coming year. The thought of a collective fresh start is one that I’ve always found very refreshing. In the spirit of reflection, I’ll briefly discuss what I’ve been up to while I lived here before this blog existed.

Since moving to Japan last August, I’ve gotten to experience so many new things, go to so many new places and meet so many new people. I now work a job that’s very different from anything I’ve ever done before, which I found quite challenging initially. I was one of two new assistant English teachers on my program to move to Ibaraki-ken, the prefecture north of Tokyo that I now call home, which was (is?) quite lonely. In Ibaraki, I live in a very small town, which is vastly different from the places I lived before this and frankly, vastly different from the Japan I’ve ever really known.

But living in my town, which is quiet and far from literally everything, has aided in one of my biggest goals in moving to Japan — learning about my identity as a Japanese American. I feel my Japanese language skills improving since I’ve moved, whether it be from the textbooks I started reading while sitting at my desk at work, the kanji mnemonic learning app I started using, or the short, broken conversations I’ve begun having with the teachers and coworkers who pass behind my desk and peer at my laptop screen throughout the day. I decided a few months ago that I want to seriously start studying for the Japanese Language Proficiency Test.

Beyond language, living in such an inaka — the Japanese word for rural — area has challenged my understanding of what it means to be Japanese American. At a prefectural meeting hosted by my program back in September, all of the participants were broken up into small groups and asked to discuss challenges or struggles about adjusting to living in Japan. Someone in my small group had brought up the experience of being a visible foreigner, and was met immediately with agreement and various anecdotes about how Japanese people didn’t sit next to them on trains or buses, about how salesclerks immediately switched to English to interact with them, about the gaijin pass (an understanding that because you’re foreign, it’s OK that you don’t know typical Japanese customs/rules/etc.)

But I realized that I don’t really have this pass in the same way that my friends who are not ethnically Japanese do. Although I do my hair and makeup slightly different and the clothes I wear are a bit more American, I don’t feel like a visible foreigner here. On the first day of work at one of the schools I teach at, one of my bosses immediately commented, “You look SO Japanese.”

It reminds me of when, a few days after I moved to my town, two of my coworkers took me on an outing to the Ryujin Suspension Bridge, a local attraction and one of the biggest pedestrian suspension bridges in the country. After we walked across the bridge, we went to a nearby restaurant. I remember sitting in the restaurant with my two coworkers, who are not (and do not look) Japanese, and a random man came up to us. He looked at me directly and asked me in Japanese, “Are you OK?,” before realizing that I was a foreigner too. “You’re all foreign?,” he had asked in disbelief.

The concept of being an invisible foreigner, especially in my town, where there’s very little English spoken and very few non-Japanese people in general, is something I’ve been thinking a lot about since I moved here. Every interaction in Japanese is like a small test for me — to see if I can pass as someone who really belongs here. It’s always a little embarrassing for me when strangers begin their conversations with me in Japanese, and then confusedly switch to English when they realize I don’t understand, even if I look like I should. I guess it makes me wonder if I’ll ever really belong in this place where I feel such a strong tie, beyond language or facial feature.

But my last few months here haven’t been spent solely in Ibaraki working, thinking about cultural identity and studying Japanese. In fact, I think I might have spent more of my weekends in Tokyo than I did in my town — Tokyo is just a 2.5-hour bus ride away, making it easily accessible for a day or a weekend. I’ve been able to attend so many pop-up events and concerts for my favorite K-pop idols (some things never change), and have been able to go to the city to meet up with multiple friends from the U.S. who were visiting.

I’ve also been able to travel a lot myself since I moved — I visited two of my friends who are also working as assistant English teachers in their respective towns in Osaka and Fukuoka (on weekends where ZB1 also happened to be in those cities LOL). For my first winter break abroad, I visited Kanazawa, a castle town in Ishikawa-ken, and Shirakawa-go, a historical village in Gifu-ken, and spent my first New Year’s Eve away from my family on the streets of Shibuya, before packing my bags to spend the first few days of 2025 in Seoul.

Now, a few weeks into the new year, I renewed my teaching contract here for another year, meaning I’ll be spending all of 2025 living in Japan. The thought is both fear-inducing and freeing for me. I’ve always been someone who has a plan, and I guess living here for the year is still a semblance of that, but I can’t help but wonder what’s coming next after this.

My New Year’s resolution this year is to stop worrying about things like that though, and to focus only on what I’m doing and what’s in front of me. Right now, that’s a whole year of learning and growing (abroad!).

So now, as I sit in my apartment recovering from the worst case of pinkeye (who even gets pinkeye when they’re an adult LOL) and write this blog entry, I’m enjoying the rays of sunlight coming in through the big windows of my apartment, and I’m hoping this year will be my best one yet. Or if it’s not that, that this year will be one I’ll cherish for a lifetime.

PS: If you’ll be in Tokyo in 2025, don’t hesitate to hit me up! I’ll take that 2.5-hour bus ride to see you any day~~

Every weekend, coffee and bubble tea shops around Southern California and in other major American cities are decorated with banners, balloons and photos of K-pop idols. Fans, who organize these events, distribute fan-made cupsleeves (often with their idol’s face on them) to guests who come to the cafe to celebrate and spread awareness of their idol’s birthday or significant anniversary. 

These “cupsleeve events” have grown in popularity since they first arrived in the United States in the late 2010s, said Lucia Ruan, a fan who has planned multiple cupsleeve events of her own. However, when she first began following K-pop in 2008, Ruan said the culture surrounding these types of events was non-existent. 

“Back then, you’d see people in Korea or in Asia do all types of events for their idols, but none of that ever really reached here. Even concerts rarely reached here. We would never really have access to those types of things,” Ruan, a USC alumna who graduated with a master’s degree in journalism, said. “So in that way, being a K-pop fan was just something confined to your own room, your own home, your own little account of whatever social media platform you were on at the time.” 

Ruan remembers the first K-pop cupsleeve events planned for her favorite group, NCT — there was one Los Angeles-based fan in particular who hosted a lot of events at her workplace, she said. 

“That was the first time that I was like, ‘Wow, something from over there is coming over here!’ It was a really exciting thing to me because it was something that I’d always wanted,” she said. “Those events were pretty popular and were a pretty big deal, and it’s pretty amazing how much it’s grown since then.” 

It was after these events that Ruan decided to plan an event of her own — a celebratory birthday event for her favorite member of NCT, Doyoung, in February 2020. 

“I felt like I really wanted to share love for him,” she said. “To me, first of all, it’s just a way of showing people that he is loved … and then secondly, giving people a space to love and appreciate him. That’s why I initially did the event, and it was a really great space. It’s just been really fun to see the different ways that people love him.” 

Since then, Ruan reran her Doyoung event this past February, and is currently in the process of planning for another event, this time for ENHYPEN’s Ni-Ki, scheduled for Saturday. 

“Especially because ENHYPEN is a newer group, there are less events about them or for them, so I think to some extent, part of the reason why I decided to do [the event] is because I want there to be more spaces to show love for them,” she said. 

For Ruan, the tangible time, energy and money that she’s invested in planning these events has reaped the rewards of a strong sense of community and friendship within the larger K-pop fandom. 

“To me, it feels more valuable for my money to go towards an experience or a memory that I can build and share with other people,” she said. “I do think that at the end of the day, you’re coming away with more than just the cupsleeve and the photo card and whatever you get at the event. Sometimes, you come away with friends, you come away with genuine conversations and a feel-good space.” 

Compared to her initial experiences as a K-pop fan over 10 years ago, Ruan said that organizing and attending these in-person fan events has “definitely” changed the way she interacts with K-pop as a whole. She said that prior to the availability of these events, K-pop was “kind of a lonely thing,” and something she could never really talk about with others. 

“It’s something that I basically just kept to myself, and so I think that with these events, it’s introduced me to so many more people,” she said. “People who do NCT cupsleeve events, we all know each other and try to support each other as much as we can … in terms of that, it feels good to have a community for once, in a way that I didn’t before.” 

Moreso, Ruan said that she believes events like these, or other community-based events in which K-pop fans can come together and show their love for their idols in the ways in which they’re passionate, has created more flexibility and room for fans to express their love in the way they choose.

“I think it just gives more space for people to be fans in different ways. So, yeah, you can be a [fanart] vendor. You can do random play dances. You can just show up and talk to people. You can be an [event] organizer,” she said. “I think that, especially in this day where it feels like you have to do certain things to be a fan, this gives us space for other alternate methods to be a fan.”

How to Plan a Cupsleeve Event

1. Decide if hosting an event is realistic: Hosting a cupsleeve event had always seemed really ambitious for me, especially as a full-time college student. I’m not going to lie and say that it was easy, and I was really lucky to have someone help me out a lot with my cupsleeve’s design and with ironing out logistics beforehand, to setting up and breaking down the event with me the day of. Additionally, these events can add up in expenses very quickly: from buying cupsleeves to preparing freebies to purchasing giveaway items. I went into my event knowing that I was willing to spend money to make it happen and wasn’t trying to make a profit. Knowing what you’re getting into beforehand will make the end result much more satisfying. 

2. Pick a time and place: Your first step should definitely be locking down a location and date for your event ASAP. My location venue was completely free for me to use (as a requirement to receive a cupsleeve was purchasing a drink or food item from the establishment). Looking at cafes or restaurants that have held similar events in the past is a good starting point! When picking a date, don’t be afraid to pick a date on which other events are being held — there are only so many weekends in a year, and only one or two that’s close to your idol’s birthday or anniversary event. 

3. Decide on a theme and begin advertising: After you’ve locked down your venue and date, decide on a theme for your event so that you can begin spreading the word about it! I’m a firm believer that the farther in advance, the better. I chose to do a “cat cafe” theme for my event (which didn’t entail much other than putting cats on my cupsleeve design and giving out cat-related freebies). Use Twitter and Instagram to publicize your event! I made separate accounts specifically for my event on both platforms, and posted graphics about the event on both as the event drew closer. 

4. Design your cupsleeve and any other goods you’re planning to distribute and order them: You can (and should) do steps 3 and 4 around the same time. That way, you’ll be able to advertise what exactly you’ll be giving away at your event! Pinterest is a great place to look for inspiration for cupsleeve designs and photo card ideas, as well as other events. Give yourself enough time for your goods to arrive with enough time before your event so you’re not scrambling towards the end — I recommend ordering your goods at least three weeks before your event (I ordered everything a month before and got everything with plenty of time!)

5. Think about and purchase any necessary decorations: If you have the opportunity to, definitely visit your venue beforehand and talk to your contact about what spaces you’ll be able to use to decorate the space. From there, plan out what kinds of decorations to bring — things like streamers, letter balloons and banners are easy and relatively inexpensive. I also printed 4x6 inch photos of my idol online and brought a few albums, magazines and other goods for guests to look at. 

6. Enjoy your event!: At this point, you should have everything you need for a successful cupsleeve event. Get to your venue early to decorate, and prepare for a day of celebrating your idol with other fans. Enjoy the community you created!

K-Pop For Non-K-Pop Fans

Today, I showed my friend, Anthony Gharib, the music video for TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s “Frost.” Admittedly, I was very surprised that Gharib even said yes to participating in this little aspect of my project, because I knew that this would probably be a very difficult task for him. Initially, he said that he liked the video’s intro, before commenting that he was “thanking God [he was] hearing English because [he] can finally understand this.” He said that the track had “dark vibes” and that the beats were “very bumpy.” He seemed to mostly notice the storytelling aspect of K-pop through this music video, commenting frequently on the imagery of the music video — something he said surprised him about K-pop as a genre. 

“The music did [surprise me] because you expect most K-pop to be kind of pop-ish, and less without a message,” he said. He then told me that that video was “enough K-pop for the year” for him. 

Thank you to my friend, Isabella, for the recommendation! What song would you recommend I show next?

Subscribe now

Share Kacie on K-Pop

Throughout the Fall 2022 course registration period, screens throughout USC’s Wallis Annenberg Hall displayed advertisements for various new courses being offered the following semester — one of which included photos of BTS and BLACKPINK to publicize the new offering of communication course “The Evolution of K-Pop.” 

“BTS can do so much,” Hye Jin Lee, the course’s professor, said with a laugh. 

Although the course was offered officially for the first time this semester, Lee, a clinical assistant professor of communication, originally pitched the idea of a “K-pop class” to the Annenberg School for Communication and Journalism communication department in 2016. A year later, BTS would begin to grow in popularity in the United States. 

“That’s when the department was like, ‘Yeah, maybe we should do this,’” Lee said. “They were like, ‘This might be a fun, interesting and a very different kind of class,’ because we don’t have anything that focuses on Asian American or Asian culture in [the communication department]. We consider ourselves to be a global program, but there’s really nothing.” 

Lee attributes a combination of the timing of K-pop’s growth in the U.S., the lack of a class specializing in K-pop at Annenberg and her own expertise in pop culture to the overall creation of her course, which she taught as a Special Topics class and a freshman General Education seminar before it was offered officially this semester. 

The course covers K-pop through a variety of lenses: beginning with a historical overview of K-pop’s rise to fame domestically, before analyzing its growth abroad. Through case studies of specific events in K-pop’s history, students also analyze the genre’s effect on sociopolitical events, topics related to gender and sexuality, and more. 

Lee said that she didn’t design the course to be something specifically for K-pop fans to enroll in, and instead had different goals she hoped that fans and non-fans would get out of it. 

“For those who are not K-pop fans, I was hoping that they can have a better understanding of K-pop, not as a culture, but also to have a good understanding of K-pop fans,” she said. “K-pop fans tend to have a very negative [stereotype], people kind of judging their passion and their affection as something that’s out of control, overly emotional … but there’s more than that. Some people are using that passion to do something more, to bring some kind of transformation in the industry, in society.” 

“For the fans, I wanted them to take a step back and then to be critical not only with their relationship [with K-pop], but the entire community, and to feel good about what K-pop fans have done,” she said. “To feel a sense of, ‘Yeah, we did something good. We raised issues. We did play a role in not only helping K-pop to become global, but also to influence the K-pop industry to do better.’” 

The course, Lee said, had a mix of students who were active K-pop fans and those who were just interested in learning more. For fans who took the course, she said the class gave them an opportunity to meet and bond with other students with a shared interest. 

“How many classes can you say that you were passionate about? That’s something, right? How many classes can you think of that you went to and you were actively involved in the discussions, or the topics piqued your interest?” Lee said. “It was also to give fans an opportunity to talk about topics that they love.” 

Lee said she thinks that “fans can be really critical and really reflective” in their studies, especially as they learn more about the world around them through courses they may be taking while in school. 

“Once you come to college, you’re taking a lot of courses. Not just K-pop courses, but a lot of different classes, and that’s when your eyes open and that’s when your mind extends, and that’s when you become more critical and reflective about not only your fandom, but just yourself and your identity,” she said. 

But Lee’s class provided even more beyond just the content she was teaching: a “safe space” for Asian and Asian American students, something she said “played out more subtly” in discussions of certain topics in the course. 

“Although 20 to 25 percent of students are Asian on our campus,there’s not a whole lot of opportunities for Asian students to feel like they have a safe space to talk about what they’re interested in, or talk about anti-Asian sentiment or talk about things that matter to that community,” Lee said. “It’s not just about helping you to meet people who are also K-pop fans or are interested in K-pop and carrying it beyond class, but also to know that USC has classes where Asian students can feel like they belong.” 

 As Lee wraps up the first semester of her course, she said that she hopes to continue teaching it once a year — something she hopes will contribute to her larger goal of making K-pop more accessible at USC, both for current students and for those looking to get their foot in the K-pop industry’s door. 

“[Hopefully,] we’ll start to see USC graduates playing a huge role in the Korean entertainment industry, in bringing lots of great new projects, exciting projects, and also transforming the industry in the process,” she said. “That’s what I hope to achieve with this class.”

K-Pop, but Academic

Outside of formal courses on K-pop like Hye Jin Lee’s, there are a number of opportunities for students and fans alike to participate in academic discussions about K-pop. Here were a few examples in the past, which could be indicative of similar events in the future: 

BTS: A Global Interdisciplinary Online Conference: Hosted by California State University, Northridge in May 2021, this online conference “brought together academics, fans, and music and media industry practitioners in a supportive and inclusive space to talk, debate and share ideas about BTS,” according to the conference’s website. Participants discussed various facets of BTS and K-pop that have been studied in an academic context, including participatory culture and fandom, mental health awareness and international relations. 

K-Pop Festa: Organized by Hye Jin Lee in collaboration with the USC Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Science’s East Asian Studies Center and the USC Annenberg School for Communication and Journalism, K-Pop Festa was an all-day celebration of K-pop music at the end of September. It featured a panel of graduate students studying various aspects of the K-pop industry including music industry, East Asian languages and cultures, and communication, a conversation with a top K-pop company executive and a concert that brought K-pop artists to an American university campus for the first time.

What I’ve Been Into Lately

As the year comes to a close, the K-pop industry throws one last opportunity at fans to spend money on their favorite idols in the form of “Season’s Greetings” packages. Usually a mid-sized box filled with various branded stationery items like calendars, photo books, photo cards or mousepads, I never feel like it’s truly the holiday season until I see the concept photos of my favorite groups’ Season’s Greetings kits. The themes of the kits typically change each year as well, making them a new and exciting thing for fans to buy before the year ends. Here’s a list of a few that have caught my attention so far this season: 

Stray Kids: The eight-piece boy group’s kit, themed “SKZ’s Mini World,” features the members posing with obscenely large grocery items, like blocks of cheese and soup cans. The theme even includes some references to the group’s other activities that fans have caught onto, like member Hyunjin’s usage of ice cream props, a nod to his unreleased single, “ice.cream.” It’s more comical than anything to me — definitely a unique, cute idea for a group that typically follows a more dark concept. 

ENHYPEN: Similar to Stray Kids, ENHYPEN takes on a playful concept with their untitled Season’s Greetings kit theme. Each of the seven members is presented as a type of doll with a different occupation, like a fisherman, photographer or athlete, giving them a youthful, colorful look that juxtaposes well with their serious musical concept. Additionally, “moving teasers” of each of the members have been released, depicting them each moving robotically back and forth in their doll box before they “come alive” and move about their “box” freely. 

IVE: For their first Season’s Greetings release, rookie girl group IVE chose a classic theme: sports. Utilizing a pink color scheme throughout, the “READY, GET SET, IVE!” theme also matches that of IVE’s group concept very well. The concept has garnered them over 17,000 pre-orders of the box on international K-pop merchandise retailer KTown4U. The kit includes a desk calendar, diary, mini poster set, whistle keychain and a “club application” to metaphorically join IVE’s “sports club.”

K-Pop For Non-K-Pop Fans

Today, I showed my friend, Samantha Turpen, a performance of SEVENTEEN’s “Good to Me.” Much of Turpen’s reaction to the performance, which was broadcasted on Korean music show Music Bank in 2019, revolved around the physical looks of the members, with her commenting that they had “better makeup than [her]” and that she “love[d] the outfits.” Because she watched a live stage rather than a music video (as this song does not have an official music video), Turpen also commented much more on the dances than I’ve noticed my other friends have, saying that the dance “lowkey [gave] TikTok” and that they were “so coordinated for how many of them there were” — something SEVENTEEN as a group is actually known for. 

“I feel like K-pop gets a bad rep so I’ve been scared to get into it,” she said. “But that was good, I enjoyed [it].” 

Thank you to my friend, Cory, for the recommendation! What song would you recommend I show next?