Japan: Two Decades of Love

Japan has changed a lot in the 20-something years that I’ve been coming and going.

When I first visited, I was 14 or 15, around 2004. And to be honest, I wasn’t thrilled about visiting. My dad lived there, but Japan wasn’t exactly my idea of “cool.” At that age, I would have much preferred he lived somewhere like the US or maybe Paris.

Japan, to me, was just a distant, unfamiliar place.

Ignorantly, when I heard “Japan,” I thought of China, and even though I knew next to nothing about China, my childish mind carried some vague, unflattering perceptions. Plus, the language barrier loomed over me. I knew I was walking into a world where I wouldn’t understand a word, and that felt like a burden. But I had to go.

I still remember my first impression: the wires.

Everywhere I looked, telephone poles and electric wires crisscrossed above me. It was surreal because, in England, you don’t see that—everything is buried underground. It felt… archaic. And I think I arrived in the evening, too, which didn’t help. The darkness made everything feel even more foreign, even less inviting. I wasn’t excited.

But then the sun came up. And everything changed.

In daylight, Nagoya, the city where my father resided, was breathtaking. The streets were impossibly clean. The people were kind and courteous. Everything I thought I knew about Japan was flipped on its head. Today, Japan is well-known and well-loved by so many of my friends. But back then, it still felt like this distant, mysterious place that people didn’t talk about much. I was seeing it all with fresh eyes, and I was mesmerised.

I spent those first few days in absolute awe.

My father had a store at the time, and I’d help him there. People would stop by, curious about the Black girl behind the counter. I stuck out—there was no way around that. Some spoke English, others pulled out electronic dictionaries to communicate. And somehow, it worked.

That’s how I met Haruka

(the cool girl wearing yellow in the picture above).

She spoke zero English. I spoke zero Japanese. And yet, for three whole days, we hung out. We had nothing but an electronic dictionary between us, but we made it work. If you’ve ever had a relationship or friendship where language wasn’t a given, you’ll know what I mean. It's like you develop a rhythm, an understanding beyond words.

She had a Mini Cooper, a detail I remember so vividly. She was THAT girl in every sense of the word. When we drove up to her house, I knew immediately that she came from money. But she didn’t care. She was in her rebellious teenage phase, and for those three days, I was right there with her—meeting her friends and getting up to all sorts of nonsense. Years later, when we reconnected, she was married with a child; she was a completely different person. But those days we spent together were pure magic.

Then came Lan (spelt R-A-N, but pronounced Lan).

We met at my father’s store too. Her English was okay at the time, but years later, she moved to the UK and became fluent. We’re still close today; she's like my sister (she's the cool lady beside me in the far-right picture).

Looking back, that first summer set the tone for the rest of my life. Japan wasn’t just a place I visited—it became woven into my story, into my identity. It holds so much of my youth, my self-discovery, my becoming.

It was disparate in every way imaginable from my life in the UK. The microaggressions I faced growing up Black in London, or even the outright hostility I encountered in places like Finland during layovers, became a distant memory whenever I arrived in Japan.

Japan never made me feel like the other. Something a lot of people find difficult to comprehend. When people ask me if Japanese people are racist, I’m the first to aggressively yell: absolutely not! Yes, they can be reserved, especially if they don’t know you. But once you break through that initial barrier, they’re some of the warmest people you’ll ever meet. With Japanese people, it's all about respect. Show them you respect their culture, and they’ll welcome you in ways that feel profound.

But Japan isn’t the same as it was when I first arrived all those years ago. It’s busier now. So much busier. Places like Kyoto, once peaceful, are now packed with tourists. I remember walking through Arashiyama, Kinkakuji, and other historic spots, feeling like I had them to myself. Now, those same places are crowded beyond belief.

And while I understand that change is inevitable, I hope—I truly hope—that Japan’s culture, its traditions, and its quiet beauty, don’t get lost in the influx of visitors who don’t respect the customs. Because Japan isn’t just another travel destination. It’s special.

It will always hold my heart. It’s my second home.

And I hope my children will one day feel the same way.