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From the start of September 2024 until the end of July 2025, I studied abroad as an exchange student at Chukyo University in Nagoya, the third largest city in Japan. By the time I set off to study abroad, I had been studying Japanese for several years, had already been to Japan twice before, knew since I was in middle school that I would one day study abroad, and felt like I knew most of the ins and outs of the culture. But it was not until after arriving in Japan that I discovered the full extent of what I didn’t know.

 

When you first arrive in a foreign country, your level of knowledge of the language and culture might be above that of the average person from your home country, but it is comparable to that of a child from the foreign country. Thus, to live abroad is essentially to become a child again. When abroad, you can’t help but observe the world around you from a child’s perspective with childlike wonder, as though I was seeing an entirely new world for the first time (because I was). In the beginning, I had many anxieties, such as “what if I accidentally say something rude without realizing it?” and “what if I can’t understand what the store clerk says and I end up bothering them?” and “what if I’m an annoying gaijin?”—after all, no gaijin in Japan wants to be a gaijin; we all wish we could blend seamlessly into the locals and not get nihongo jouzu’d every time we try to speak. However, I had to accept that if I was going to live in a foreign land, these things were going to happen; to learn about the new world around me, I would have to stumble through the world and embarrass myself along the way just like a child does. I can now say that I have had the unique experience of getting to be a child twice in my life.

 

Before studying abroad, I had been to Japan twice as a tourist, and already experienced most of what Japan has to offer in terms of tourist attractions and activities. I believe that the heart of a culture is not what is most well-known and readily presented to outsiders in travel blogs and culture guides—even the most unknowledgeable tourist in Japan is familiar with the shrines, convenience stores, izakayas, torii gates, shopping streets, and cherry blossom trees. What really intrigued me was what is to be found beyond all that, to find the ura (裏; hidden side) of the uraomote (裏表; outward appearance and actual condition, lit. “back and front”).

 

I made it my goal to take the path less traveled, to immerse myself in the ordinary and the mundane. I made a practice of walking anywhere and everywhere, wandering aimlessly just for the sake of wandering, getting lost, and taking tiny side streets rather than the main road. I became uniquely captivated by Japanese telephone poles—their numerousness and complexity, the density of the wires—and aimed to take as many photos of them as possible. There is a Japanese proverb, toudai moto kurashi (灯台下暗し), meaning “the darkest place is under the candlestick.” I set out to find the places under the candlestick.

 

People say that Japanese people are quiet and reserved, in contrast to Americans, who are known for our outgoingness and propensity to strike up conversation with complete strangers. I cannot say for certain whether that perception of Japanese people is true. Despite my obvious foreign-ness, during my year in Japan, I enjoyed numerous spontaneous interactions with Japanese people. When paying at the register after enjoying a coffee at a small, quiet cafe in the suburbs, the server asked if I was a foreign exchange student, asked me where I’m from and why I came to Japan, and gave me a gift of rice crackers and marshmallows. While attempting to take photos of a train passing over a bridge, an older man approached me and asked if I was able to take a good photo; he taught me the word toritetsu (撮り鉄; railway enthusiast who enjoys taking pictures of trains), and showed me to a secluded spot where I could take photos of passing trains from above on a pedestrian bridge. Once, I was attempting to pass through a subway station to get from one exit to another (as I often did, because it was faster than waiting to cross the busy street above ground) when my expired commuter pass suddenly refused to let me exit, and I had no choice but to call the station attendant; while struggling to explain the scenario to the attendant, an English-speaking woman approached us and translated for me. Twice, at two different tonkatsu restaurants, the chef noticed I was a regular and struck up conversation with me.

 

Likewise, knowing the strictness and rigidity of the Japanese education system, I had the assumption that Japanese students were significantly more hardworking and studious than the typical American student. There is another common Japanese proverb: deru kugi wa utareru (出る釘は打たれる; the nail that sticks out gets hammered down). I was surprised to see that Japanese university students skipped classes and partied just about as often as American students. Even in such a conformist and collectivist society such as Japan, I met many Japanese people who might be described as “nails that couldn’t be hammered down.” I met Japanese people with many piercings and tattoos; I met Japanese people with unabashed and boisterous personalities; I met Japanese people with eccentric fashion tastes; I met Japanese people who don’t like sushi. I also met Japanese people who were stereotypically “Japanese” in every sense you can imagine.

 

It made me realize how easy it is to make generalizations based on what you think you know, based on only what you have been taught and exposed to. Of course, culture creates observable patterns of behavior and beliefs, but these patterns only go so far. I finished my study abroad experience with the one conclusion that I was unable to draw any hard conclusions about Japan or Japanese people. In the end, I felt like I learned more about people than I did about Japanese people. It even made me rethink my assumptions about my own culture. How can I say that Americans are this or that when there will always be Americans who aren’t this or that? What does it mean to be American, or to be Japanese? I returned to the United States with a reinvigorated curiosity to explore the place I call home as though I were a foreigner, to find the places under the candlestick in my own country.