A Decision and a Plane Ride

In late January, I packed up two suitcases and flew fifteen hours from Minneapolis to the outskirts of Osaka, beginning my semester abroad in Japan. This plane trip was the endpoint of a semester of pusillanimity on my part. I love Oberlin, and leaving it for a semester was a very hard decision to make.

While making it, I received a lot of advice. The gist of it was: studying abroad is a very, very special opportunity. There are good reasons to accept it: it will expose you to new cultures, new ways of thinking, and open doors that you never knew existed. There are also good reasons to decline it. Oberlin students are a precocious bunch, and if that means you have reasons to stay in town – a tour with your a cappella group! Friends to see! Concerts to organize! – then do what you will.

In the end, I did decide to spend my spring semester in Japan. (I’m a junior. Many people decide to study abroad in the fall of their junior year.) Why did I make this choice? Well, there was one piece of advice that, in the end, swayed me.

Here it is: If you want to study abroad, if you’re going to miss a full semester in Oberlin with your friends and gaming groups and the neighborhood cat that naps near the bike path, then it’s up to you to make sure it’s worth it. Promise yourself that you’re going to squeeze everything you can get out of your study abroad program. Wring it dry like a sponge.

This is what convinced me to go to Japan. I think I’ve finally identified why. I’ve discovered that I value the opportunity to be responsible for my own learning. That’s exactly what studying abroad provides. It’s up to you to find the courage to walk into a restaurant without an English menu, and work out how to order food in a foreign language. It’s up to you to learn to navigate your new city’s wildly complex train system. It’s up to you to try new foods and play new instruments and meet new people.

That opportunity is what I wanted. So I got on a plane to Japan.

The way I get used to a new city is by running in it.

The day before classes at Kansai Gaidai University began, I went on a run down the hills of Gotenyama towards the Yōdō River, and made my way along its abutting flats. Many things were on my mind. For one, I was feeling excessively proud of myself. Earlier that day I had gone to a department store and, when paying for my pillow case and my mochi skewers, correctly used a grammar form I learned in Oberlin’s Japanese 102 class to ask if it was okay to pay with my debit card. I was also musing about the things I was excited to do in Japan. I was planning on paying a visit to Fushimi Inari Taisha, a famous shrine in Kyoto with hundreds of red torii gates. I wanted to try yakiniku (grilled beef), and karaage (Japanese fried chicken), and okonomiyaki (you should look this one up).

And at a certain point, I stopped and took in the view.

It was very early February. The trees by the waterside were not yet in bloom. It was cloudy – forty degrees. The rushes near the pavement sank seamlessly into the river water. It felt like the Midwest… except for the mountains. At the edges of the city, which stretched for twenty miles down the river valley, cliff sides were outcropping.

In that moment, I felt situated. I felt ready to take on what the semester had in store.

So here goes. I’ve had about a week and a half of classes so far. I’ve been to the nearby cities of Kyoto, Osaka, and Kobe (Osaka’s cooler younger brother). I’ve walked through Fushimi Inari Taisha, and tried yakiniku and karaage. Everything else is still in the works. So stay tuned.