Japan and Quarter-life crisis

This week marks the beginning of my 6th month in Japan. I know how it looks to an outsider, reactions I've gotten span from "Oh it's a good opportunity" to "Oh my god, you're living the dream!" I didn't really understand why so many people (especially Malaysians) love Japan. But I'm slowly starting to see its appeal. It has such a rich and unique culture, so obviously different from what we're used to. Yet it seems mysterious, kind of like that sexy artist you can never quite figure out.

At 25, I'm at that place in my life where I'm becoming increasingly aware of where I'm at physically, intellectually and emotionally. I want to say I've seen quite enough of life in the East and West, but I only know what I know. I think we all crave both comfort and adventure, and it's difficult to strike a balance - to be able to tiptoe out of your comfort zone. I think we all know what it's like to be comfortable, to be confident with who you are and what you're doing. But what is it like to step outside of that, into the unknown and unfamiliar? No one knows. You don't know, and no matter how wise and old someone is, they can't tell you how it's going to turn out. You can do as much research and listen to as many people as possible, but you'll never really know how things will go.. which is why I don't really like it when some people ask me for advice or encouragement to go in a certain direction.

Sometimes we're so desperate for an answer, we turn to someone for reassurance, but we disguise it by asking for their advice instead, hoping they can and will confirm what we're picturing in our heads. When I was contemplating the move to Japan, I knew it was a rare and great opportunity, but was it the right thing to do? I'd already gotten so familiar with the US culture, it had become my home now. I'd changed and grown so much there, that it was hard to imagine moving to anywhere else. It never even crossed my mind that I would live anywhere else other than the US and Malaysia. Japan? Never in a million years.

To take a leap like that, I figured you'd either have to be really courageous, and do it with your eyes wide open - armed with all the knowledge of the country and what you're getting yourself into. Or you'd need to jump in with your eyes closed, which is what I did. It's almost like cliff diving. You can kind of see how high the cliff is, but you're not doing research on what exactly happens when you're underwater. You don't know how cold the water is, or how long it's going to take for you to resurface. If I'm really honest about why I jumped in with my eyes closed, it's because I was afraid.. of being afraid. I was so afraid of letting my bosses down, that a few weeks before the move, I dreamt that I'd screwed up some task. I woke up covered in sweat and tears. The crippling fear was real.

Weeks later, I packed up my whole life, and moved to Japan. I didn't know it at the time, but the culture shock would be greater than I'd expected. I considered myself a highly adaptable person.. Growing up, I watched Chinese TV series with my grandmother and Cantonese comedies with my family. I also listened to pop hits from the US. I was proud of my identity, and I felt I had a good mix of eastern and western values. I thought I could adapt well anywhere.

And then I threw myself into the deep end. I didn't understand many things about the Japanese culture. Of course there were articles, oh so many articles telling you what it's like to live here, and what the Japanese are like, often generalizing them. I have to rephrase - I understood the rules, after all, I was brought up with Chinese values, and went to a Chinese school. I understood the importance of obeying rules, working well in a team, conforming. But that was challenged in the US. Students were asked for their individual opinions, and for the most part lecturers were happy to hear differing views. The entrepreneurs who succeed in the US are often the ones who go against the rules. In fact, look at the founders of Uber and Airbnb.. they created those services because they weren't going to put up with the norm. They were looking for a better way to get things done, and in that process they disrupted industries and caused uproar in communities (and countries).


I always have trouble describing the cultural differences between Japan and the US. It's difficult because people and societies are so colorful. It's so easy to fall into that trap of painting each culture as black or white. But that's not possible. Each culture has its pros and cons. And those pros and cons you see may not even be seen by someone else.

..Which, sadly, has made this cross-cultural journey a rather lonely one. Someone who has lived in the US his whole life may find it difficult to understand and relate to a hierarchical and patriarchal society. In the US, I found a supportive network of women in the music industry through Women in Music and Shesaid.so. Women came together to help each other, offer guidance and provide support. They were outspoken and upfront about the challenges women face in the workplace. When I was about to graduate, I reached out to many women in the industry to ask for their advice and guidance, and many were surprisingly eager to help guide and mentor younger women like myself.

Moving to Japan meant I'd lose that community. Of course you'd still be connected online, but like any relationship, it's different from actually getting together at a physical place. As a recent graduate, I didn't know what I could ask for. I reached out to the communities to seek advice regarding negotiation of salary and relocation package. A handful of people wrote back, but no one really knew how a recent graduate should negotiate a relocation package for a job in a foreign country. Finding a balance between knowing you don't have much working experience and understanding your value can be a difficult task. You're not in an ideal position to push for everything you want, but you're also valuable enough to ask for some things. So how do you negotiate? And how much can you ask for?


We often have this perception that our peers have their lives all figured out. That's all such bullshit. People don't have their lives all figured out. It's just a facade. As we approach our mid-twenties, there's an increasing amount of pressure to have a successful career, relationship, friendships, property ( / properties?), etc. The endless social media posts demonstrating the successes of others may make us feel like we're not enough. But this is something we don't talk about enough. We're so concerned with putting up a flawless front that we think we're the only ones going through a difficult time. When we're stumped by challenges at work, or we're going through a breakup, we feel so lonely because all we see when we look around are people with their awards and their engagement photos.

In recent years, I've grown to embrace vulnerability as a necessity in life. There is a lot of value in being vulnerable - something I learned from Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg. Of course, there is a possibility that people would use that against you, but I've found that being vulnerable with people has brought more advantages than disadvantages. In light of this, I'll talk about the first month of my life in Japan:

It's painfully lonely at times. One of the first tasks I had at this job was to coordinate nearly everything for our company's presentation at a massive event. It was our first appearance at what's considered the largest gathering of worldwide professionals of the industry, and involved the frontman of one of the most successful bands from the 80s. Not only was I learning to adjust to a new culture as a foreigner, I was wrestling with the fear of underperforming because I knew what a big risk the company took by hiring me. I felt guilty about placing my career before my relationship, and struggled to grow closer to my other half with the added strain brought on by the time difference.

I felt like pieces of my life were scattered before me, and I was struggling to pick up all the pieces, all at once. After a month of preparation, the presentation finally took place in Europe. From my new home, I watched clips of the presentation, and monitored the feedback we received from attendees. I was so sure there was going to be some kind of fuck-up. I'd been working so hard on it, but it was my first time working on such a huge professional event that didn't allow any room for mistakes, and I was certain I was going to get a call from a disappointed boss. But that call never came. So the next night, I went out to have a celebratory dinner by myself, and ordered a nice large plate of Sichuan spicy fish fillet to celebrate. As I sat in front of my delicious dinner, I couldn't help but start to feel this messy pile of emotions sink in - first it was relief, then happiness, followed by emptiness and finally loneliness. As I peeled away layers of all these feelings, I started crying in the restaurant.


So much has happened since that night. Whenever I think things are starting to get easier, a new challenge rolls in, and I realize I still don't have life figured out. Maybe I'll never really feel that way, but that's probably okay. Because where's the fun if you have everything figured out? Where's the happiness that comes from overcoming obstacles? If life's easy all the time, are you really learning and growing?