My year abroad was one of the most valuable experiences of my life, both personally and professionally. It reshaped my perceptions of both the country I studied and my home country; gave me a new perspective on the things I thought I enjoyed; and helped me develop a clearer understanding of myself and my priorities.
I’ve studied Japanese for three years and have been fascinated by the language and culture since childhood. Even though I had studied Japanese society in detail before arriving and spoke the language at an advanced level, I still experienced significant culture shock. Over time, I realized that no matter how much I thought I knew, there was always more that I didn’t.
One of the most difficult challenges was forming social connections. Despite speaking Japanese and joining multiple clubs, I found it difficult to make close Japanese friends at first. University society in Japan is highly collectivist; if most members attend an event, everyone else is expected to join as well. In contrast, American student life is more individualistic — if you can’t make it to a meeting or practice, it’s usually not a big deal. In Japan, when I couldn’t participate for personal reasons, it was sometimes interpreted as a lack of interest or commitment to the group. Further, Japanese university lectures are far less engaged than in the States, with exceedingly few opportunities to interact with and get to know your classmates. Eventually, I came to feel that making meaningful friendships within the university structure wasn’t viable. I was forced to shift out of my introverted habits and start initiating interactions in other settings. I began going out alone and striking up conversations wherever I could — cafes, coffee shops, restaurants. I tested my Japanese in as many places and with as many people as possible. In the end, all of my Japanese native friends came from these efforts. In comparison, I can count the number of friends I made at Keio on one hand.
Experiences like this and others — those shaped by cultural gaps and differences in value systems — pushed me to reflect on what kind of balance I want to strike — as an American, an Indian, and someone immersed in Japanese culture. In the U.S., my identity never felt particularly unusual, but in Japan, it became something I had to think about constantly. I had to learn to set boundaries and accept that differences in values don’t require an apology or a solution. Instead, I’ve come to see those gaps as spaces I can choose to bridge — or not — depending on the context. That kind of reflection wouldn’t have been possible in a shorter stay abroad, and it was critical to my development both as a future researcher of Japanese history and in everyday life.
Coming to terms with my identity was the greatest challenge I faced. Several times I felt so isolated, confused, or even angry that I seriously considered quitting the program and returning home. But overcoming those moments helped me build a level of open-mindedness and self-security that reshaped how I live and clarified the path I want to pursue.
At the beginning of the academic year, I was considering a future in foreign policy or law. But after a full year in Japan, I realized that my passion for research and history runs much deeper. Visits to places like Hakodate and Sekigahara solidified this shift. I still care about international affairs, but now I hope to contribute through a historical perspective instead. I plan to apply to history PhD programs this winter, to begin in Fall 2026. Living in Japan was indispensable in shaping this path.
One of my most meaningful experiences was visiting Hakodate with my older sister and seeing the memorial of Hijikata Toshizō, a historical figure I’ve studied extensively. I also traveled across Japan to visit medieval castles and the towns around them. These pilgrimages often brought me to rural areas few tourists visit — places with trains every two hours or no station at all. In these towns, I met elderly residents who shared their knowledge and stories. Some had never met a foreigner or had not seen a person of color in years. One of the most powerful encounters was with a 96-year-old Japanese woman who had lived through World War II. We spoke at length about her wartime experiences and how she views Japan today. Her reflections on hardship, postwar transformation, and generational change were moving. In those moments, I was especially grateful for my language skills and the opportunity to hear these voices. It made me feel more connected to the Japan we see today—and to the people who preserve and remember its history.
If I’m fully honest, I did not enjoy living in Japan. But if I had the chance to choose again, I would still go — because the experience shaped me and taught me things no opportunity in the U.S. could have. It reminded me that even when you think you understand something, there is still so much more to learn — about a place, a culture, or even yourself. I assumed the train system would make everything easier, but in reality, long commutes, overcrowded trains, and long walks in extreme weather made everyday travel exhausting. I missed my car and motorcycle so much that I bought a motorcycle in Japan just two months in. During my first six months, I was homesick, struggling to reconcile the three cultures I belong to, and often tired of being asked by curious taxi drivers about American politics simply because they had few chances to speak to foreigners.
Now, as I prepare to return to the U.S., I feel a complicated mix of emotions. I’m happy to go back to more familiar systems (like not needing everything on paper), but I’ll miss the quiet charm of my Tokyo neighborhood, the camellias blooming in December, the dear friends I made in my second semester, and the beautiful countryside dotted with medieval castles.
My study abroad experience was eye-opening. It broke down many of my assumptions about Japan—and even about the U.S. Nothing was predictable. Even though I didn’t entirely enjoy living in Japan, I’m incredibly grateful for the year I spent there and for the opportunities it gave me: to travel, to learn, to meet new people, to be alone, and to grow in ways I never expected.