Coming Home.

The best place to start is not quite at the beginning, but at the new beginning.

Kawasaki City, Kawasaki. From here...

From December 2012 to July 2015, I lived in the Kanto area of Japan. Firstly in Katsushika, a special ward of Tokyo, then Kawasaki, Kanagawa. Almost three years. My decision to come home was based on a lot of factors - family, my rapidly degrading mental health, money and the fact it was near impossible to save money or live well as an English teacher - good reasons, excellent ones.

I still felt like a failure.

There is a set design for life. We're taught this from a young age; media in all forms presents it as the ideal. You have a wonderful childhood, you grow up, you go to university, leave home, get married, have a career, a billion kids, retire and die. It's a nice frame work, sure, but one I have never really followed closely. I liked that. I liked my autonomy and independence; it's what propelled me forward when my mental health and circumstance held me back.

So even though this was the case, I still felt the failure of returning from The Really Big Adventure empty-handed (metaphorically; there's thirteen boxes on a shipping container making its way to Australia that proves I'm physically not empty-handed from my time in Japan). Some days, it drips from me. It permeates conversation and inner dialogues. It feels like, sometimes, it's on a sign hanging around my neck. Tried, Failed. "Where do you live?" "Oh, halfway between my sister, mother and abject failure." "Do you speak fluent Japanese?" "No, no." It's solid and scary; but - and this is the important part I must emphasise for you guys and myself - it's also all in my head.

I haven't missed Japan much. Sure, I miss aspects of it. I miss my friends, and going to concerts. I miss magazines and Suica cards. Oh gosh, I miss Cash on Delivery and Japan Post, you have no idea. By and large, however, I just don't miss it - and this is exactly why I had to come home.

...to here. Brisbane, Queensland, Australia.

Don't get me wrong. I know coming home was the best decision for me. I was miserable in Japan, and not just because the bread was awful. I can't articulate it, not quite yet, but I'm working through it. By coming home, I will (and am) facing my demons and fixing past mistakes, while also focusing on myself. I'm communicating and laughing and eating and job searching and feeling valued. I am happier, and it's only been a month and a bit. But that feeling of failure and missing those small things still hangs, and I have to open up the windows of my noggin and air it out like a musty smell.

I'll get there. "You'll get there." (Thanks, Disembodied Voice.)

So that's why I started this blog. One to talk about my time in Japan, and my journey coming home; two to highlight what I love about myself and my life. I'm a funny little creature who's learning to be honest about herself, and I hope to drag you all along for the ride.

Here's to Tired Mouths (and moi!). Please stay tuned.

Posted in Coming Home, Japan, Mental Health