I woke up early as planned to take on the mock JLPT N3 exam, the existence of which I’d uncovered late last night when I was far too mentally exhausted to actually give it a go.
Onkar had mentioned that the 2 available mocks were all that he’d really worked through as directed preparation for the N2 himself (after three years of living in Japan, mind you — a very different situation). Still, I figured it was about time I saw what I was up against.
I pulled out my laptop and opened the test paper. If I’d known about it earlier, I would’ve first attempted N5, then N4 and finally N3, as I’d done with the other, smaller set of available practice questions two evenings ago. Today, with the actual N3 exam coming up in less than 4 hours, it made sense to tackle it straight on.
Onkar also mentioned that his practice session of solving the mocks had served him well, because several kanji that showed up in his exam were also in the mock and there was a not-insignificant overlap between the two papers, especially considering how vague the ‘syllabus’ even is for language tests. He predicted it might be similar this year and urged me to study the mock carefully.
I hoped to at least familiarize myself with the format and maybe spot some patterns that could help me out in the real exam. But the moment I started, I knew I was out of my depth.
It took me over twice the amount of time allotted for the first section just to understand the answers (It was instantly apparent that I was nowhere near capable of solving them myself). There were kanji characters made up of seven different radicals, and staring at them felt like trying to memorize the position of twenty random pieces on a chessboard at a glance — impossible for a noob like me.
I quickly realized I wasn’t even going to retain any of what I was looking at right now until the exam, because it was so far out of reach. My brain just wasn’t ready.
So, I gave up on “studying” the mock and just familiarized myself only with the question structure so that I wouldn’t waste time trying to figure that part out later. Then, I used the remaining half hour I’d set aside for the mock to take a nap — arguably the wisest decision I could’ve made.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered not showing up for the test. I considered it many times in fact, even right before the test.
Mom and I were assigned to different test centers, so Dad accompanied her while Bua came with me. When we reached the building Google Maps pointed us to, there was a massive line. It was the highest concentration of foreigners I’d seen in Japan so far (understandably so — Japanese people don’t need to prove their proficiency in Japanese), and the group of Indians that had been walking ahead of us in the last stretch on the way there went and joined it.
I grabbed an egg sandwich and a chocolate waffle for the break — I’d read that food was allowed, and while mom’s exam was only 1.5 hours long, mine was 2.5. What if I got hungry?
About five minutes into the line, a woman appeared holding a handwritten sign in Japanese. She seemed to be asking examinees for their exam level, and sending some of them off to a different location. I had an inkling that she was rerouting N3s. I tried to communicate, but she didn’t seem to understand me. I was confused, but felt pretty sure I was in the wrong line.
Eventually, I caught her attention again and confirmed that yes, I was indeed N3 — and she pointed me further ahead. I stepped out of the line, and after some confused wandering (and subtly following others clutching test vouchers), I finally reached the correct building a couple of blocks away.
The administration figured that someone qualified enough to take N3 would at least be able to read the sign they had in Japanese directing them to the right building. Not me.
Inside, there were many floors, each with many rooms for the N3. The turnout was huge.
I couldn't find my room number at first — everyone else seemed to have a different version of the test voucher than I did. Luckily, I remembered I had an alternate printout version in my bag. We’d gotten the original test voucher mailed to a friend of dad’s who lived on the opposite side of the country, since it was scheduled to be delivered before we arrived in the country. Dad’s friends had mailed out our vouchers to our latest accommodation, but before we received them , we’d printed out an alternate PDF version to be safe. This, thankfully, did have my room number listed and with some help from admin staff and another student, I was pointed to the right room.
Amidst all the confusion, even then, I managed to sit in the wrong seat and had to be redirected. I was flustered, to say the least.
I realized upon sitting down that the test voucher I did have had a hidden fold-out with all the info I’d been missing — seat number, rules, everything. Thankfully, I’d read some of it online that morning, and remembered to bring my passport, pencil, eraser, and food. Sitting there in the exam hall, I read about the yellow and red card system (yes, like football): one warning for talking, or instant disqualification if your phone rings (or, obviously, if you cheat). I was already anxious — not that I was planning for any of those to happen to me.
And if things couldn’t get worse, the invigilator started announcing rules over the microphone — in Japanese. I shouldn’t have expected anything different, but it caught me off guard. Anyway, I understood a few words here and there and I made my way through the rest by copying what others around me were doing — putting their phones in plastic cases, putting them in their bags, taking their test vouchers out, putting them back in, taking coats off the back of chairs and putting them under their seats, etcetera.
I’d anticipated sitting through the exam to be torturous, not knowing anything, and failing a major test for probably the first time in my life. But right now, the exam hadn’t even started, and I already felt like I’d failed.
Then, it began.
This is a note I wrote after the first section (Vocabulary) ended:
made educated guesses about 3-4 questions (out of 35), & totally random ones on the others. I’m writing this in my break after section 1 and although I’d relinquished all hope (for the 17th time) this morning after the mock, right now is when any universal shred of possibility disappears because you need at least 19 points per section to pass (outside of the overall 50%) and there is just no way statistically that 19/31 random answers — each with a 1/4 chance — are correct.
I like being in the examination setting tho. It’s intimidating and weird being probably the only one clueless in a room full of people (including a tiny boy of 7-8 in a front seat, and many old-ish people, lots of whom look indian/the other kind of asian) who know what they’re doing, what they signed up for and are prepared for it. But somehow taking a test like this (I haven’t in so long, basically since uni) is kind of exciting. Let’s see what the next section is like.
P.S. i brought a sandwich but no one is eating so neither will I. Also kind of wish I’d brought a face mask (it’s pretty common here). I feel like everyone somehow knows that dis bitch can’t understand anything. Would like to be anonymous. Too bad. Also I dressed way too formally, wtf is wrong w me?
I also used that time to text on the family group chat that I’d found out my exam would end at 5pm, not 3pm as I expected, so that they wouldn’t waste 2 extra hours waiting. There were long breaks between sections and more time allotted for admin work like handing out and collecting and counting papers, and face-verifying everyone’s identities every time we came and sat back down.
It was eventually time for the next section, and here’s the note I wrote after that:
2nd break now. Better than the last. Some things were at least comprehendible. You’ve gotta be hella fast tho to finish the whole thing and i still random guessed a ton. Let’s see how listening goes.
I ate my waffle (not good) and sandwich (squished).
I was probably enjoying the exam more than the people around me, entirely due to the sheer lack of stress. When there’s no hope of passing (as section 1 had ensured), there’s no pressure. So, I just did my best and stopped worrying about the result.
The next section — Listening — was the last. It was over.
A definite fail, of course, and for the first time in my life actually. I’d been bracing for an identity crisis, but I didn’t feel much at all.
There I sat outside Tokyo Station, waiting to meet up with mom and dad after Mom’s exam (which had somehow taken as long as mine, since it was running delayed), arguing with Onkar (he’d met up with me and Bua) as he denied egging me on to do N3 although I remember vividly that he was the one who convinced me to do it.
When Mom and Dad finally arrived, we got into debating whose exam went worse. The N4 paper was apparently hardly decipherable for her, and she’d made the same mistake I had in the listening section by looking at the wrong set of images in the last two sets of questions.
We all went to a vegan ramen restaurant called TanTan to celebrate the failure (it’s family tradition), where we overheard 2 other girls speaking in Hindi. They’d also just taken the N3, and one was saying to the other she didn’t recognise a single kanji in the vocab section. Hi five!
Now that it’s over, here’s what I know:
I’m going to take this exam again in six months. And next time, I’ll be prepared. I’ll study at a normal pace, with a proper base. I’ll learn through fun things — anime, songs, manga — and I’ll enjoy the process. Honestly, I was a little scared that failing this badly on the exam this would turn me off the language entirely. It’s happened before, with school subjects that the stress ruined the fun. But thankfully, that wasn’t the case at all. My feelings about Japanese are unchanged — I want to keep learning.
Onkar suggested I consider N4 next time, and while that initially felt like a step back, I also know what’ll happen if I turn up for the N3 underprepared again. I plan to do mock tests for both levels before signing up again, and take whichever one I’m best fit for. I know better than to let overconfidence or my ego get in the way and make me sign up for an impossibly tough level, but I’m also going to hold myself up to a healthy challenge and prepare with that in mind.
I’m walking away determined, not defeated. The end of this exam is just the beginning of everything else.