Me at the airport before flying to England, with the legend Takeshi Kitano in the background
In this article, I will share two experiences I had during my spring trip in England, though in reality they revolve around people I met on both the journey to England and the return trip to Japan. These moments meant more to me than simply practicing conversation with strangers. They affected me in a deeper way and made me reflect on my identity as someone with mixed cultural roots.
Last summer, I made the decision not to visit England. I chose to do an internship in Japan instead, which was a tough decision for me. Since internships between the two terms of the third year of university are common in Japan, it felt like the best choice to remain here during the break. This is done as part of the Japanese job-hunting sequence. Fast forward to January of this year, after 18 months I was finally on that plane back to England for a six-week stay. As I transited through Shanghai, the thoughts of seeing my sister and family, as well as visiting familiar places was racing through my mind.
On the second flight to London, something unexpected happened. The woman sitting next to me asked in English whether I was Japanese, as she had seen my passport. She then switched to Japanese and started talking to me.
For the first time in my life, I became friends with a stranger on public transport. This lady was twenty-three years old (two years older than me), and was on the plane to meet her British fiancé. Throughout the flight we spoke several times: after waking up at similar moments, while eating, and even while playing games on the seat screens. It ended up being the first long flight where I didn’t watch a single film.
It felt strange entering England with another Japanese person who I might never see again, knowing I won’t meet another Japanese person for the next month and a half. We got off of the plane together and walked through immigration. We thanked each other and exchanged social media. I waved goodbye as I saw my grandad, who I had not met in a year and a half, come to greet me. Saying farewell to someone I had travelled halfway around the world with, whom I will probably never meet again, the same second as I reunited with family I had missed for so long, was an unusual feeling to say the least. For me, it was a wonderful way to begin my journey back in my birth country. Looking back, it felt almost symbolic that my journey into England began with a conversation in Japanese.
During my trip this spring I had quite a few similar encounters. The most memorable, aside from this one, was a lady I met from Luxembourg, which I wrote about in another article. As mentioned, this was a big deal for me. Being from Japan where most people tend to keep to themselves, accepting friendly people’s invites to chat built my confidence, one conversation at a time.
Six weeks passed by, and I was on my way back to Japan. I was in tears as I said goodbye to my sister as well as other family members that morning. I knew it might be longer than eighteen months before I returned again, especially with Japan’s intense job-hunting schedule approaching. Leaving home to go back home. Leaving family to meet my family. Leaving my mother tongue behind to speak my mother tongue. It is always a surreal and sad feeling. Once again, I was to transit at Shanghai, this time for an excruciating six hour layover.
It was the last day of February, and at the airport I remember seeing news break out that the U.S and Israel had attacked Israel. I was cut off from Wi-Fi soon after that. On the aeroplane, I was sat next to a talkative Englishman, wearing a red England football top that reminded me of Bobby Moore. I assumed he was around fifty-five years of age, older than my parents. He spoke to me just a little bit before we flew, mentioning the news he saw about Iran whilst filling in the Sudoku he cut out of the Metro newspaper.
Again, I didn’t watch a single film, this time as I wasn’t feeling up for it, I was too tired. As we landed, the man next to me started talking to me properly. “Does your journey end here?” he asked. From then on, he wouldn’t stop talking to me, and I was loving our conversations. He told me he was to visit Japan to see his daughter, and that he had a layover of only two hours compared to my six, which I was very jealous of. We walked through the whole airport together, at times queueing for ages whilst chatting about Japanese culture and stuff about the UK. I felt very happy to have this man by my side and couldn’t believe my luck at making another friend on the journey back, something that had never happened to me before despite flying on nearly fifty planes in my lifetime. Hearing his accent and the fact that he had packed hot cross buns and Easter eggs, I could not help but to feel unmistakably British talking to him. One last reminder before entering Japan again.
Eventually we reached our separate gates. We shook hands, and I asked his name before we said goodbye. I sat down alone, preparing for the long wait ahead.
As a small side note, I checked my phone out of boredom. I knew there would be nothing to see since the airport Wi-Fi blocked many apps, meaning I couldn’t contact anyone. Still, a notification on my news app appeared that led to a blank “no connection” page. The Ayatollah had been killed. I was stunned. Having been cut off from the outside world for over half a day, I had no idea what was happening. Part of me wished I could run back and tell my new companion as we had briefly talked about the escalating situation earlier. This whole incident reminded me of how long and lonely journeys usually feel when flying.
Looking back, these two encounters felt like my two cultures taking turns to accompany me on my journeys. Together, they represent to me that no matter where I am in the world, England and Japan will always be a part of me, and a bit of both will always exist somewhere near me wherever I go. On my way into England, my Japanese side shone as I bonded with someone my own age. On the way back to Japan, my English side resurfaced as I left England with someone from there, who was twice my age. These journeys didn’t just improve my confidence in speaking with strangers, they reassured me about who I am.
I even took photos with both of them, small reminders of the moments when my two worlds quietly crossed paths.
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