Three weeks in Japan

It’s 2:17 AM. I’m in the window seat, far right side of the plane. Somewhere above the ocean. The cabin is quiet, just the low hum of the engine and a faint blue glow from someone’s screen a few rows ahead. I can’t sleep. So I’m writing this.

I just spent three weeks in Japan. My first solo international trip. Ten cities.

Tokyo, Fujikawaguchiko, Fujinomiya, Kyoto, Okayama, Osaka, Nara, Hiroshima, Kumamoto and Aso.

It still doesn’t feel real when I list them out like that.

I remember how Japan existed in my head back in school.

It wasn’t a place. It was a dream.

Clean streets. People bowing. Sushi. Bullet trains. And of course, Disneyland. Always just out of reach.

A summer destination for kids with passports and privilege. A world you only knew through glossy brochures, or maybe a cousin rich enough to visit and return with a souvenir pencil box.

I never thought I’d go.

But, I did.

And I paid for everything. Hotels, flights, bullet trains, helicopter rides, snacks I couldn’t pronounce, tickets I almost missed. All of it. On my own.

I never made a big deal of it. But deep down, it means something.

It’s hard to explain what it felt like.

There wasn’t one big moment. Just a thousand quiet ones.

• Like walking into a FamilyMart at midnight for strawberry milk.
• Like standing still at Shiraito Falls, where the water didn’t crash, it whispered.
• Like bowing to a deer in Nara, and watching it bow back.
• Like losing a souvenir bag on the bullet train...and getting it back the next day, 250 kilometers away.

(I was so surprised. How come no one stole it already?)

Somehow, Japan felt like a country built on care.

The kind that shows up in tiny ways. I mean, perfectly placed chopsticks, handwritten receipts, vending machines that return change with a gentle clink.

It felt like the opposite of rush.

• Even the bottle caps had a tiny plastic hinge - so you’d never lose them.
• Sachets and packets came with the neatest little slit, always just where your fingers would reach. No wrestling, no tearing with your teeth.
• Umbrella wrappers at every store entrance - so you never drip water indoors.
• Tactile paths on train platforms, guiding those who can’t see.
• Extra lift buttons, placed low for someone in a wheelchair.

And the train doors?

They always stopped at the exact same spot. Every single time.

It felt like the world was aligning itself for you.

Every small design decision felt like someone had thought of you.

Not as a user. As a person.

I felt that again - maybe even more deeply, at Disneyland.

When I first entered, I’ll be honest... I didn’t get it.

Crowds everywhere. Kids screaming. Long queues. For the first hour or two, I kept thinking... Why am I here? Should I just leave early? I’m not a child anymore.

But slowly, something shifted.

I looked up.

At the rooftops. The tiny windows. The lamp posts. The music playing in perfect sync with every zone.

And I started to see it for what it was: an imaginary world, brought to life. A dream that someone once had scribbled on paper, pitched in a room, laughed at, revised, and eventually... built.

And not just built - crafted.

Even in the waiting queues for rides, there was magic.

A talking clock. A flickering candle. Animatronic faces with expressions that felt real.

I knew under the hood it was just servo motors, LCDs, speakers, some code. But everything moved in perfect harmony. Like these inanimate bits of metal and wood had been given souls. ✨

Somewhere between a popcorn cart and a parade, something in me softened.

These weren’t just mascots anymore. They were characters I grew up with. Mickey. Donald. Winnie the Pooh. They lived in sticker books and Cartoon Network afternoons and pencil boxes I once refused to share.

Somewhere between a popcorn cart and a parade, I stopped thinking about whether I was “too old” for any of this. I just... leaned in.

Tried all the popcorn flavors! Caramel, curry, honey, chocolate, blueberry. Yes, they were a little overpriced. But honestly? Worth it.

I got myself a Mickey plushie. And a Winnie the Pooh one too.

I stopped checking price tags. I stopped calculating.

I just let myself feel it. Let myself want things. Silly, soft, unnecessary things.

And of course, the rides!

Space Mountain. Big Thunder. The Beauty and the Beast one.

Some were gentle. Some threw me around. But all of them? So ridiculously fun. I was smiling like an idiot half the time. Maybe even screaming a little.

It wasn’t just thrill, it was theming. The way each ride pulled you into its world. The music, the lights, the waiting areas. Even standing in line felt like part of the story.

By the end of it, I didn’t want to leave.

And I don’t say that lightly, I always want to leave early, beat the crowd, skip the fireworks.

But that night, I stayed. I watched the parade. The castle lit up.

And when the music started playing, I just stood there, cap on, plushies in hand and took it all in ❤️

The rest of the trip had its own rhythm.

In Tokyo, I shopped more than I should’ve. Stationery, clothes, random souvenirs I didn’t need but couldn’t resist.

I went up Tokyo Tower. Stared down at the city from Shibuya Sky. Rode the subway at rush hour. Ate at quiet little restaurants.

Tried the Apple Vision Pro at the Apple Store, and okay, I’ll admit, it blew my mind.

And I stayed at the MUJI hotel. Minimalist perfection. Of course I also went to the MUJI flagship store. Twice.

I chased Mount Fuji in Kawaguchiko and Fujinomiya, and one morning, I caught it!

The perfect, snow-capped view I’d always seen in wallpapers and postcards.

Sat by the lake for hours. Cycled along its edge. Found some hidden spots where there was no one. Just trees, water, and the quiet outline of Fuji.

Went and saw the magical Shiraito falls.

I got lost in Kyoto’s alleyways. Had the best ramen and sushi in my entire life so far.

Stood in silence in Hiroshima. Attended a recitation session at the Peace Memorial. That place didn’t just move me, it shook me.

In Aso, I saw wild horses grazing in open grasslands. Took a helicopter ride. Watched smoke curl out of a live volcano.

And one morning, because of a forgotten souvenir bag, I ended up in Okayama. A city that wasn’t even on the itinerary.

But it felt oddly meant to be. I even found a Starbucks there that served a drink you couldn’t get anywhere else.

Along the way, I met so many kind people.

• An old uncle at a quiet café in Tokyo who served the best coffee pudding and had the warmest smile.
• A cheerful barista in Osaka who remembered my morning order and once saved the last waffle just for me.
• A restaurant owner who made me chai on my last night in Osaka. We sat together, talked, and when I told him I was leaving the next day, he went quiet. Sad, even.
• There was a stranger I met in Arashiyama Bamboo Forest. From New Zealand. We chatted like old friends and he invited me to visit him in New Zealand.
• A girl who helped me choose the right dish at a local diner.
• A person who offered me their umbrella during a sudden drizzle.
• Another who offered to drive me to my hotel when I was stranded at a bus stop in Kawaguchiko.
• A policeman who walked me to the metro station when all I asked for were directions.

Help just...kept finding me.

I never had to search. Never had to ask twice. People just showed up on their own with kindness and warmth.

There was this one lady at the Peace Memorial in Hiroshima.

She lit up when she heard I was from India. Was so happy that I attended her recitation session. And got so excited when she found out I’d visited smaller towns, not just the famous ones.

She scribbled a list of recommendations for my next stops. Told me where to go, what to eat, what to look out for.

There’s a version of this story where I pretend I found some profound meaning.

But, I didn’t.

What I found was...space

To be fully on my own. To figure things out as they came.

To quietly build a kind of independence I didn’t know I needed.

Solo travel isn’t always easy, but I liked that about it.

It stretched me. Pulled me just far enough outside my comfort zone.

You’re in charge of everything! Where to go, what to eat, how to get from one station to the next. No one else to decide for you. No one else to blame if things go sideways.

And weirdly, that felt good.

It made me feel more self-dependent. Like I could handle things, even in a place where I didn’t speak the language.

There were moments I felt a little lonely. Not always, just these small pockets in the day. Like when I saw something beautiful and instinctively turned to share it... and there was no one there.

Or when I sat down to eat and didn’t feel like scrolling my phone, but also didn’t have anyone to talk to.

But over time, I found my own rhythm.

I started laughing to myself at odd things I noticed.

Jotted down special moments in my notebook.

Called a friend once in a while, just to share a piece of the day.

It stopped feeling lonely and started feeling peaceful.

And yeah, it was a tripod life.

If you want good photos, you get creative. If not, you settle for mirror selfies. Either way, you end up living for the moment, not the feed.

Looking back, I think that’s one of the best parts of the trip. Not just the places I saw, but how I saw myself in them. Capable. Curious. Completely okay in my own company.

And I’d do it again.

In a heartbeat.

I think that’s what stayed with me the most.

Not the temples or the shrines - though those were beautiful.

Not even the landscapes - though some of them looked like Ghibli frames come to life. ✨

It was this...quiet dignity. In how things were built. In how people moved.

No one shouted. No one cut in line. No one tried to “game” the system.

Things just worked.

And people trusted that they would.

It made me notice how noisy my head usually is.

How often I try to optimize everything, move fast, look for shortcuts. But here, for once, I let go.

I stood in lines without checking my phone. I walked slowly. I looked around.

Maybe that’s what Japan taught me.

That care isn’t loud.

And meaning doesn’t always arrive in bold.

Sometimes it’s just a slit on a sauce packet. Or a train door that stops exactly where it should :)

P.S. Still in that window seat. Still somewhere over the ocean.
Just carrying a little more with me now.