When I was 21 I went to Japan for the first time. I was going to write a book about it. But then I got lazy. Here is the introduction and first chapter! There is only one chapter, haha!

⤵︎⤵︎⤵︎⤵︎ Want to Listen? ⤵︎⤵︎⤵︎⤵︎

Spoon Read Along or Sleepy Time Link

Introduction

My name is Kiara Phillips and I was born on September 17^th in the year of the horse, or more specifically, 1990. My older brothers, products of my mother’s first relationship, grew up in North Carolina with my mother’s parents, so until 1993 when my sister was born I was an only child in our household in Jamaica, Queens, New York. Because of the setup I’ve always had trouble deciding if technically being the middle child overthrows my being the eldest in our Queens household, as I hear birth order affects you as you get older. Which is probably why my mother, who is the eldest of her family, and my father, who is the baby of his, fought and bickered on an increasingly constant level as my sister and I grew up.

I was a smart-mouthed tomboy who loved reading, writing, video games and computers, fighting on a regular basis with my dad who, I often joke, was still a baby himself, having become a father at the ripe age of 20. Whatever the reason, we fought to the point where I moved away from home at eighteen and set up house with my best friend from Japan in the big city. New York City to be exact. Thanks to that and a number of other unrelated events, hobbies and unique opportunities, I became fluent in Japanese. Now, as long as I’m not discussing quantum physics or political science, I can comfortably hold my own in a Japanese conversation and can even tell jokes.  And, being half Guyanese and African American with no trace of Japanese blood, that tends to turn a head or two. 

After I turned twenty and finally stepped over the line between conversational Japanese and fluency there were 3 questions that almost every Japanese person asked me, almost always in the same order: Have you ever been to Japan? (No.) Is your boyfriend Japanese? (No.) Do you like Japan?  (What?) I found this question to be especially annoying as, to me, it made little sense that I could possibly like Japan without ever having been there. Does one like lasagna simply by learning the recipe and looking up its history? No. Yet, that was all I wanted, thought of, my passion—my dream to go to Japan. Basically all I had accomplished, to this point, was actually learning the language, studying the culture and only wishing to find a way for me to taste Japan for myself.

But nothing in the world, no amount of daydreaming or wishing, could have prepared me for another series of random events that took me to the place my dreams were made of, transforming my humble wish to travel to Japan into something I had never thought possible.  How could I have imagined that on my first trip to Japan I would be met upon arrival with a Japanese network film crew and director that would film my every move as I traveled the length and breadth of Japan, learning, laughing and having the time of my life!

Chapter 1 – Picture This

 “Kiara!”

My name was called out from the crowd, extra stress on each syllable and the ‘r’ rolling just a bit – the way a Japanese person would say it. I scanned the sign-toting airport reception crowd in search of the voice, and in the sea of Japanese people I found the one I was looking for. 

The giant smile and sparkling eyes of one of the television crews’ assistant directors lit up, and giving me a thumbs-up sign, she pointed to her right and my heart jumped into my throat. I had a split second to drop my bags, straighten my clothes and wipe the sleep out of my eyes before the director and cameraman caught sight of me and swiveled in my direction.

“Kiara!” the director called, the ‘r’ still rolling, beaming and waving.

My heart was pounding and my mouth was dry as I put my biggest smile in place. Hiking my bag over my shoulder and pulling my oversized polka dotted suitcase, I pushed forward. I had expected filming to be done in the airport – it was an important scene – but I had expected a quick greeting or meeting, or some advice on how the scene should go. No. The moment I landed in Japan at Narita Airport, straight out of baggage claim, the cameras were rolling and the crowd was watching. There were no crazed fans held back by airport security, no one holding signs with my name written inside giant glitter hearts, but still the crowd was watching as I shouted out the director’s name in glee and practically skipped to where he was standing. Under the weight of their eyes I had a moment to think, I’m no one special. But, of course, nobody in the airport needed to know that.

 “It’s been a long time!” he commented when I reached him, and the cameraman circled around to get us both in the shot. 

“It has! How are you?” I asked. Down to the cameraman it was the same crew that I had worked with back in New York City, most likely done specifically to help me feel more at ease about the long-term, nearly daily filming ahead while being so far from home. I was still very new with the whole filming process and appreciated the familiar faces, but still I knew enough to keep smiling and dig up all the eagerness and excitement that I could muster, despite my exhaustion. 

“I’m great. What about you? I mean, you’re finally in Japan!” At that the cameraman moved closer, zooming in on my face.

“I know! But I don’t think it’ll really hit me until I get out of the airport. All airports look the same to me,” I laughed and by then the crowd had begun to whisper amongst themselves, watching, staring, heads cocked to the side in confusion and curiosity. 

Of course, everyone was wondering who I was and why I had a film crew documenting my arrival to Japan, but more than that they were wondering how and why a young, chocolate-skinned African American girl like me managed to be carrying on a conversation in fluent, fluid Japanese. I understood how watching me speak Japanese was like opening up a milk carton and finding orange juice inside – the stuff that flowed out just didn’t match the packaging. And my Japanese did flow, smooth and easy as I traded clever banter with the director. 

“So what are some things you’re looking forward to doing while you’re here?” he asked.

“There are a ton of friends I knew back in New York who have moved back to Japan. I’m really excited to see as many of them as I can while I’m here.”

The director nodded, glancing at the cameraman, who pointed the camera down at the floor. “Alright it’s good so far, but can you mention how you wanted to go to Kyoto and how you’re excited to learn some kanji?”

I licked my lips and nodded. That’s how filming normally went for this particular show. There were never any true scripts to memorize and follow but the director would gently push you in the direction he wanted the show to go. I had mentioned wanting to visit Kyoto – because some of the friends I mentioned lived there – but I knew what sort of things he wanted me to say. As for wanting to learn kanji, I knew it was a necessary evil I had put off for as long as I could, but saying I was ‘excited’ would be pushing it.

A second nod from me, and the cameraman lifted the camera. The director asked again, “So what are some things you’re looking forward to doing while you’re here?”

“Well, if there’s time I’d really love to go to Kyoto.”

“Really? Why Kyoto?” he asked.

“Well, I speak Japanese but I don’t really know much about Japanese culture or history. I’d love to learn more and I think Kyoto’s a great spot for that.”

He nodded, satisfied with my answer. “And what else?”

“Hmmm,” I said, pretending to contemplate my answer. “Kanji. I have to start learning kanji.”

“That’s right! Since you learned Japanese on the go through work and friends you’ve never really focused on reading and writing, right?” he asked, enthusiastically.

“Exactly. Now is probably the best time to get started!” I responded, and the director nodded in agreement with a small laugh. 

“You look tired!”

“Well, I am. It was a pretty long flight and right now it’s…” I pulled out my phone. “One in the morning in New York. I guess that isn’t too late with my usual crazy schedule, but still!”

Again, a laugh from the director. “I get it. Plus it’s your first overseas flight so it’s even worse, huh? Alright, let’s head to your hotel!” He reached for my suitcase, pulling up the handle and turning towards me. “Shall we?” he asked and I smiled with a little fist pump.

“Let’s go!” 

Following after him with my carryon bag we made our way to the glass doors leading out of the airport, the cameraman trailing behind us, still recording as we made small talk. When we walked out of the airport, the director nodded and the cameraman shut the camera off. “Great job,” the director said, sincerely. “I know you’re tired. We’re just waiting for the van to pull up now. Have a seat.” Nodding, I collapsed on the nearest bench, almost feeling the thick, humid air part with every move I made. 

“It’s hot isn’t it?” asked the cameraman, sitting down next to me and wiping his camera lens with a cloth. 

“Too hot. Summer is nearly over in New York right now.”

“Well, Japan is just getting started. August is one of the hottest months here.”

“Oh my gosh,” I cried out, slouching with my elbows on my knees. “I think I’ll die,” I whined, scanning the area. Outside of the airport was still very sterile, just a bunch of people – albeit nearly all Japanese – milling about with suitcases, cars zooming by on the street. Nothing seemed to be very Japanese-y. And then I found it: a vending machine with a bunch of coffee drinks in cans and a dozen different flavors of tea and soda. I bounced to my feet and pointed to where it stood further down the sidewalk. “That! I have to get something from that.” 

“That? Are you thirsty?” the director asked, back from his cigarette. “Come, I’ll buy you one.” 

We walked over to the machine, the camera back on as I underwent my first Japanese vending machine experience. “Here,” the director said, dropping a few silver coins in my hand. Turning them over and over in my hand finally made me truly excited – I’d held Japanese yen before but this would be my first time actually spending some. 

I’d never thought of the big, black, plain and bulky machines back in New York as uninviting until I saw my first Japanese vending machine. Even the ones plastered with bright, well-designed soda logos on them didn’t seem as welcoming as the white and bright box of light standing before me, with the buttons for choosing your drinks encircled in a blue glow. It was beautiful.

“What will you choose for your first drink in Japan?” the director asked, holding out the microphone for my answer. 

I shook my head, overwhelmed by the choices. A few of the brands and drinks I had tried back in New York, but there were at least a dozen of drinks and flavors that I had never seen. I’d often watched in Japanese soap operas as young couples in the middle of a winter date stopped at a machine just like this one and bought perfectly cylindrical little cans of hot coffee to warm up. That was unheard of in New York. You had your sodas, juices, water and the occasional iced lemon tea and that was it. The idea of getting a can of hot coffee from the same machine that sold chilled bottles of royal milk tea was mind blowing. Tempted as I was, the 90-something degree weather was not fit for hot coffee and I opted instead for a peach soda – incredibly hard to find back home.

Making a big deal of not knowing which coins to use and pushing the button with only slightly exaggerated eagerness, I finally pulled out the bottle that fell gently and soundlessly to the little door at the bottom of the machine, not like the machines in New York that spit out your drinks with an angry bang. Screwing off the top, I turned towards the camera and held up the bottle in a small salute with a smile before taking my first sip. Maybe it was just the combination of the hot and humid weather and my not having had anything to drink since breakfast on the plane several hours earlier, but that soda was freaking amazing. 

There was nothing forced about the satisfied sigh that left my mouth after I’d chugged half the bottle. The director, laughing, asked, “Well?”

“It’s amazing. Perfect for this weather. I love anything that’s peach flavored.” 

“Glad you like it!” he said, and the cameraman tilted the camera back to the floor. “Nice. Let’s go, the car is here.” 

We walked across the street to where the medium-sized van was waiting for us, just as the assistant director came out of the airport after wrapping up security clearance or whatever was necessary to film in an airport. Jogging to catch up she slid the back door open for me as the driver came out to take my carryon bag and help the director load my things in the back of the van. Climbing inside I sat in the middle row, with the assistant director sliding into the back, the director beside me and the cameraman up front with the driver. 

“You can sleep if you want,” the director said. “We have a long way to go before we get into Tokyo.”

“You mean this isn’t Tokyo?”

“No, actually this is Chiba.”

“Well, why does everyone ‘fly into Tokyo?’” I asked, making quotation marks in the air with my hands – a gesture I wasn’t sure carried over into Japanese culture.

“Who knows? That’s just the way it turned out. But this is Chiba.”

“I see…” I mused. “Well, I’m alright for now. I’ll sleep later.” I eyed the cameraman who was filming through the windshield, documenting our journey into Tokyo, zooming in on various highway signs. I wasn’t about to let them capture any candid footage of me sleeping during the ride. It was bad enough I was dorky and awkward while conscious, I did not need proof that I snore or sleep with my mouth open floating around on everyone’s televisions and computers. 

“That’s probably for the better…” the director commented.

“That’s true,” the assistant director piped in from the back. “You need to stay up until nightfall and try to get used to the time zone switch. No sleeping until at least 9 tonight.”

“Can’t I take a small nap at the hotel?” I asked, glancing at the radio clock at the front of the car. It was barely 3pm. I didn’t think I would last until 9pm.

“It’s better if you don’t,” said the director. “Look over there. That castle? That’s Tokyo Disneyland over there.”

“But this is still Chiba,” the cameraman chuckled from the front.

“Well that’s not fair,” I remarked. “Tokyo gets all the credit for everything, huh?” Everyone in the van laughed. 

Comfortable silence after that, followed by the directors and cameraman briefly talking about some other business matter and a meeting they had to attend later in the day. Just as I was about to doze off the director called my name and the cameraman turned in his seat, leaning back against the dashboard in an attempt to get both me and the director in the shot in such a narrow space. The assistant director behind us was laid down flat against the seats to stay out of frame. How did I know that even in the car the cameras would keep rolling? It was one of the perks of dealing with a documentary-slash-variety show.

“Yes?” I asked. 

“See that sign? Can you read it?” the director asked, and the cameraman swiveled back to the front but by that time we had passed it. “Wait, it’ll come again…there!” He said, pointing to a green highway sign overhead. Now, you may or may not already know, but Japanese consists of 3 writing systems, of which I knew 2 comfortably, and out of the thousands of characters in the third writing system I knew only a few hundred. Out of the four characters in the sign the director had pointed out I only knew one. 

In a panic I broke out of my use of polite Japanese, crying out “I don’t know!” in a slangish, girly way. “Something-something-something-SE” I answered, and the whole car burst out laughing. From that last character I knew it was a request for the driver to do something, but I had no clue what sort of request without knowing the other characters.

After the crew got over laughing at my poor attempt to read, the director said the word for me, which I tried and failed to repeat leaving the crew laughing again. Apparently it was a fancy way to say ‘slow down.’ After two more minutes of this game with me failing horribly, the director said, “Let’s try hard to study kanji, okay?”

“Right, kanji…I’ll do my best, but…” I stopped, rubbing a hand against my temple. “But I just really hate studying,” I added, again in a slangy way, dropping the polite present tense ending I should use with my elders.

I’d had a few people say that part of my charm was my ability to talk comfortably and naturally in Japanese, unlike a lot of people who were stuck using textbook Japanese for years and years. Those same people had also tried to convince me that it was alright if I talked to everyone as if we’d been best friends for years because I was a foreigner and no one would reprimand me for it, but the idea of using the ‘foreigner’ excuse never pleased me. I took pride in the fact I could comfortably switch back and forth between super-polite Japanese and street slang, knowing when to use which at the right time. However, part of my ‘character’ on the show was my laxness and friendliness and I was encouraged to work my ‘charm’ at the right moments. 

Some more banter between me and the director about the benefits and annoyances of studying, the camera on and watching the whole time, not wanting to miss any funny or interesting comments we could use for the show. Soon the highways turned to busy city streets and then to equally busy, narrow alley-like roads. The van was now fighting to turn the tight corners and maneuver through the maze of inner Tokyo, the director and cameraman insisting we were indeed, finally, in Tokyo proper, and no longer in Chiba. We pulled in front of a building with 20 or so floors, the hotel name written in English in silver embossed letters above the glass doors. We all piled out of the car, everyone helping unnecessarily to get my two bags out from the back of the van.

The assistant director informed me that the Sunroute Hotel in Shimbashi would be my hotel during my stay in Tokyo. It was the best choice of hotels since it was only a 4 minute walk from the train station and less than ten minutes away by foot from the crew’s main office. After getting my bags out and in an easily accessible spot beside the car door, the driver, director and I piled back into the van so we could shoot the arrival scene. After the cameraman got a shot of the building and then us in the car, we got out again, and with the director taking my suitcase and me with my carryon, we walked up to the automatic glass doors of the hotel and into the blissfully cool lobby, the camera watching from beside the car.

Having never stayed the night in more than a cheap motel during a group trip to Washington, D.C, I was amazed by the pristine, chic decor of the hotel lobby. The director walked me up to the front counter, filling out my information and receiving my room key while I stood sort of awkwardly to the side grinning like a fool and nodding politely to the staff. The process was short, and the assistant director had followed us in by the time we were finished. She informed me that the cameraman and driver had gone back to their main office, and we would walk there to do the necessary introductions and other business matters after I had a chance to drop off my things in my room and freshen up. 

The director went out for a smoke and the assistant director showed me to my room, explaining how I needed my room card to access the elevator. Getting off at the 12th floor we walked down the dimly-lit, well-kept halls to my room, where she handed me my cardkey so I could practice opening up the door. The room was dark when we entered, and after putting my card in the slot beside the door as instructed, the room lit up. It was small, furnished with a bed, desk, television and refrigerator. There was barely enough space to leave my bags at the foot of the bed and still have room to walk around. But as I wasn’t paying a dime for it and would be staying there in the heart of Tokyo for two weeks there was no way I was going to complain. I was ecstatic.

She explained where the cable to connect my laptop to the internet was, how to use the air conditioning system, and the interesting television channels from the limited list the hotel offered, pulling up the curtain to let the sunshine in.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” she finally said, standing in the open doorway of my room. “Meet you downstairs in 15?” 

“Yeah, sure,” I said, exhaustion sinking in again at the sight of the full sized bed and pillows.

“No sleeping, okay?” she said lightly. “We’ll be waiting downstairs.” 

Snapping my attention away from the bed I looked at her and nodded. “Roger that.”

Smiling, she nodded and backed up, closing the door as she said, “Fifteen minutes.”

And with that I was left alone in my very own hotel room in the middle of Tokyo, finally living the dream. Not only was I finally in Japan, I was in Japan with a television crew following my every move, paying for my every need and planning to take me on the extreme tourist experience throughout as much of Japan as we could fit into two weeks.

Excitement, fear, confidence, doubt – a dozen feelings flitted through me as I walked to the window and gazed down at the busy Tokyo street below me and then out across the cityscape. From my window I could see the Tokyo Tower. The infamous Tokyo Tower just a few miles away, postcard picture perfect right from my hotel room. I swallowed and backed up, falling back onto the freshly laundered comforter spread across the bed. 

“Japan,” I whispered, testing the word on my tongue as if it would taste differently than it had when I was still in New York. “Japan…” It was the first time I had spoken English since I had landed.

I sat there on the edge of the bed stunned for a moment, hands limp in my lap staring at Tokyo Tower through the window, my window. Remembering my time constraint my eyes flicked to the clock on the desk. Eleven minutes. Eleven minutes to sit and try to absorb and understand the situation I was in. Eleven minutes to try to figure out how I had gone from sitting at home and dreaming of having enough money to take Japanese classes to sitting in a hotel room with a view, in Tokyo, with a freaking Japanese television crew waiting for me downstairs. 

“Japan…”