It's Long but Worth it. Kind of like my time here...

I'm solid, solid as a rock. My voice rarely quavers in front of others, it is rare that you will find me crying, and I almost never get emotional.

It is when events are laid out in a timeline that one allows him or herself to assess their accomplishments and personal contentment.

I came to Japan roughly four years ago. I was set on working in this country for only one year. I prepared myself to bid goodbye to my new friends, thinking I would stay in touch with a chunk forever. Thinking that the ties we had established after one year were strong enough to stand the test of time. Well at least at that time I thought so.

After four years I have never left this career in which I choose on a whim. "Teaching in Japan? Sure, I'll give it a go," I mulled over in my head for all two hours before accepting a job in a place I didn't even know existed. Heck, the only city I knew of in Japan was Tokyo.

I never replay a decision in my head, but I do reflect many times on this over-haul of a 4-year stay and question, "How in the world did I ever allow this to happen?" Up until now I have spent almost my entire twenties here, something that I vowed I would never do.

So how did this happen? First, I let my fate in this country rely on a go-with-the-flow mentality. I opened up the small school, thinking given enough time that I'd manage to either drive it in the ground or it wouldn't even get off the ground. Well, that never happened.

So I was left making these useless yearly finishing dates of when I wanted to be done in Japan. But as every date approached I gave myself one reason or another why I needed to stay just a little bit longer. I needed to enjoy what I worked so hard to create.

This winter I made my final ending date: October. No ifs ands or buts about it. I will never get tired of living here. I will never be a failure. The longer you stay in a place the more like home it becomes. So months ago the executive decision was made. I want out.

Well, I really don't want out, but I will make myself get out. I know this career and location is not a lifer for me. Simply because, professionally this is the only thing so far in my life that I really know. I made this decision with little conviction, similar to the lackadaisical way I first made the decision to come here. In a way, it all seems fitting.

This morning in college I made such a corny Japanese joke that I had all the kids laughing. Through out the day I walked downtown and was stopped by 5 acquaintances. One was a Japanese man who was walking like he was on a mission. He saw me and stopped:

"Do you know how you know me?"

"Wait a minute," I said as my mind started searching all its tiny shelves trying to place the face that was on the tip of my tongue.

"Takamasa!" The 60-plus year old man shouted, trailing it with a jolly laugh.

"I knew it!," I said as I realized he was the master (owner) at a delicious cheap Japanese restaurant. The kind of restaurant you enter and hear the staff shouting their welcomes and five minutes later you have a plate of food on sticks waiting to be eaten.

"Hey, I do know you," I said, "You are some sort of Buddhist priest too, right?" I fished for a random fact that I remember him telling me.

"Oh, you do remember me," the Takamasa restaurant owner said. He then continued hurriedly on his way.



Tonight, in class, I cracked up my 12-year olds. We were so silly that we took a time-out from class to play dress up. They made themselves look goofy in their school uniforms while I matched their behavior with a silly display of my recent purchase.

Simply put, it feels nice when people take to you.

It was today that, for the first time since creating the leaving day, the unemotional rock-solid side of me crumbled and the reality of leaving this place really set in.

I have made a home here. It may not be my true home with my family, but it is a home. It's a life.

I treasure my time here, the people that I have grown to know and the relationships that I have cultivated. To think, I thought just one year was enough.