Despite all of last night’s efforts to pack in a way that would allow us a calm morning of checking out of the Airbnb, it was—as per usual—a frenzy.
I was in touch with the room owners throughout our stay, and having requested it the day before, we’d been granted a late checkout of 12pm instead of the usual 10am. As a result, I’d been relaxed enough to not even wake up until after 10.
The plan was to check out around noon, hang around Ikebukuro for a couple of hours (I had my eye on Tenbou Park in Sunshine City 60), and then head to Haneda Airport, where I needed to be by 3pm for my 6pm flight.
We had a quick breakfast of whatever was left in the fridge to minimize the amount of food we would have to carry around (Mom refuses to let anything go to waste). I also remembered a few last-minute things I had to stuff into my suitcase: a ninja shuriken Dad had gotten me from the ninja museum experience, and a pair of small scissors that couldn’t go in my cabin bag.
There was also the advent calendar.
Knowing how much I used to love them as a child, my boyfriend had sent one for me with Onkar when he flew in from London. But it was only December 13 — I still had 11 chocolates left to open, and I was also adamant to eat each one on the day it was meant to be eaten. The box itself had a ridiculous amount of cardboard and plastic for the amount of actual chocolate inside — there was no way I could fit the whole thing into my already exploding suitcase. So, the sacrilegious (but necessary) solution was to open all the remaining ‘windows,’ taking photos of each chocolate in its original spot, and transferring them all into a small plastic bag. That way, I could still eat each day’s chocolate on time by referring to my photo gallery.
We were also meant to separate our trash during the whole stay, but we hadn’t been as particular about it as we should’ve been. Trash collection only happened two nights a week though, and today wasn’t one of them. This meant we’d have to leave our trash in the room, and there was a hefty fee for not separating it. That was enough to get us to do what we should’ve done all along.
So yes, despite aiming to leave early, we exited the Airbnb at exactly 12pm. By Parkinson’s law, if our checkout time had been later we probably still would’ve left exactly at checkout, so at this point it didn’t particularly feel like a blessing that we got the 2 hour extension at all.
By the time we made it to Ikebukuro Station — slowed down by the weight and number of our suitcases — there wasn’t much time left. Sunshine City was officially scrapped. Instead, we decided to have one final meal together at our favorite diner, Denny’s.
An oishii soy steak, miso soup and basil-pesto-avocado spaghetti later, we were on our way to Haneda.
I was leaving but Mom and Dad and Bua had another two nights booked in a hotel near Narita — Tokyo’s other major airport.
Mom and I had lived in an area not far from Narita during the ‘duo’ leg of the trip, but hadn’t actually explored it. I figured there’d be plenty for them to do—as had been the case in every corner of Tokyo so far.
This was also the first hotel I’d booked during the trip. Until now, it had been all guesthouses, hostels, and AirBnBs, often shared with different combinations of family members. Sure, Mom and I had snuck into Onkar’s hotel for one night, but never had a hotel of our own (the ‘love hotel’ doesn’t exactly count). So I took this opportunity to treat them a little.
While I’m sure they would’ve navigated the end of the trip just fine without me, I figured it’d make things easier to stay closer to their departure point — especially considering how massive their suitcases were. The hotel had a free shuttle to Narita and was only a short drive away regardless. They wouldn’t have to share rooms or bathrooms with strangers. They got free breakfast. And today was Mom and Dad’s 26th wedding anniversary. I told them to consider this hotel my gift.
Now, checking in for my flight was a mess. Air China’s website is like a relic from the early 2000s: full of buggy legacy code that looks like it might collapse if you breathe near it. For over an hour, I tried to check in online. Each time, I’d get halfway through the process only for a random, unexplained error to pop up and kick me back to the beginning.
I’d had the same problem on the inbound flight and ended up having to check in at the airport, resulting in an 11-hour middle seat experience. I was not about to let that happen again.
I tried again. And again. And again.
At one point Dad got invested in the process too, reading Reddit threads and travel forums, trying to help me troubleshoot. Turns out, tons of people have issues checking in online with Air China, and as a result, airport queues are notoriously long. He pulled up a workaround that worked for one person where they modified the site’s source code to bypass an error popup, but that didn’t apply to my case.
Then Dad came across someone who had success using the Air China mobile app after creating an account there. I installed the app, but it needed an OTP to register an account. I’d taken out my UK SIM for the trip and was using a Japanese eSIM, but I swapped it back in to receive the code. As you can see, I really wanted to check in online.
Nothing. No OTP. Tried resending. Still nothing. Sent it to Dad’s number. Twice. Then back to mine again.
Still nothing.
I was this close to accepting my cursed middle seat fate when miraculously, the OTP came through. On both phones. I quickly typed it in, created the account, and finally was able to check in. I chose window seats on both legs of my flight because my head simply needs a wall to lean against if I want to get any sleep.
All this effort paid off today at the airport. I was one of only two people in the check-in area who had somehow cracked the code and checked in online. That bumped me to the front of the baggage drop queue and gave me precious extra time with the family before heading to security.
Time passed though, as time does, and eventually, around 2h before takeoff time I entered security. Mom cried. I didn’t. Mom always cries. So do I, so this was a surprising anomaly. I guess my body was subconsciously saving energy for the ghastly day-long travel that was to come.
I was sad to go though. Especially to leave Mom. This had been an amazing bonding trip. We had lived together for 50 days, and exclusively with each other for a fair chunk of those, outside both of our comfort zones, navigating Japan and Japanese and survival and enjoyment and learning and growth and so, so much more.
And while I was now off straight on another adventure — visiting Italy for my first week of work at the new job – the end of this one felt like the end of an era.
I was glad that Mom still had Dad and Bua for company. Dad had changed his original outbound flight ticket for the 12th to the 15th on the same flight as mom, which I originally didn’t think was the best idea because I was hoping that flying alone would make Mom more independent.
Bua booked a different flight with similar timings, so while she’d travel to Narita airport with them, she’d be apart on the journey only to reunite at Delhi airport. I originally thought it’d be good for Mom to get a similar experience herself, but now that I’m reminded what missing family feels like, I’m happy that Dad’s schedule worked out the way it did.
A short while into my own flight, I was beginning to wish I wasn’t on it at all.
I dozed off for a minute and woke up to strong turbulence. There was an announcement in Chinese, and then one in English, but both sounded equally garbled to me.
Then suddenly, a thud. The seat below me rumbled like it does when the plane tires are out and it’s on the runway, but we weren’t supposed to be landing yet, or anytime soon.
We’d taken off with surprising speed, accelerating way faster than most flights do. And most flights fly straight up for a while before turning towards where they need to go, this pilot had also made a sharp turn almost immediately after takeoff, and I remember thinking to myself ‘damn, someone’s in a hurry’.
But now, I was looking outside and seeing nothing, it had been dark and cloudy minutes before and it seemed the same. Visibility was zero. And from how the plane rumbled beneath me, I was sure we had landed.
For a minute, I double guessed the time I napped for— had four hours felt like four minutes? No, that couldn’t be it.
The in-flight tracker showed we were still somewhere in central Japan, twenty or so minutes into the flight.
Was it an emergency landing? What was going on? Why was everyone else unfazed? This feeling was not normal for a plane in flight.
And then it became worse. The plane rocked in a way it definitely wasn’t supposed to. I had felt that it wasn’t as stable as most planes I’ve been on (which is a lot) right from the start, but I attributed it to it being a small, 3-3 seat style one since smaller planes are generally more turbulent. But this was beating all of those standards.
Turbulence is usually scary for a while and then you realize it’s alright and eventually it goes away, but I was simply not reaching that stage today, and neither was the plane.
It would be exaggeration to say that ‘my life flashed before my eyes’, but it would be an understatement to deny that part of it did.
And in that suspended moment of genuine fear, I realized how much I wanted to live.
Years ago, I don’t think I would’ve had the same clarity. I don’t think I would’ve felt this deep resistance to the idea of things ending. Back in high school, even though I was doing well on paper, I was emotionally adrift. I didn’t feel like I had a clear path forward, or much to lose. I didn’t know then just how much there was ahead to be excited about.
Sure, I was afraid of the act of dying itself, but in the grand scheme of things — the two states of living and then no longer so — the actual act of ceasing to exist is just a blip in the two time continuums, and the way in which it happens — a plane crash being not the smoothest — would be irrelevant in the bigger picture.
The point is, I wasn’t nearly as afraid as I should’ve been. I was surprisingly okay with it for a 16, 17 year old.
But there on the plane today, I was terrified. All I could think about was how much I wanted to stick around for all of the things I had planed for the future. Places I want to go, experiences I want to live, feelings I want to feel, relationships I want to grow and nurture, changes I want to make to myself as a person and to become capable of changing things in the world.
I realized how much I’ve gained since the age of 16, and I don’t want to cease to exist. I don’t want to be in a plane that’s crashing. And how I wished I wasn’t on the plane I was on today.
The fact that I’ve written this and that you’re reading it, if it ever does get published, stands to show that the plane landed alright. The torturous stretch of turbulence eventually ended and apart from a few slightly bumpy stretches, the rest of the flight was relatively fine.
I’m writing this from my transfer at Beijing Airport, which also means that my time in Japan — this time in Japan, at least — is now officially over, and with that comes the end of this series of blog posts, or whatever this turns out to be.
There’s a certain sense of nostalgia as I write this, because as much as it felt like a chore at times, it was a thrill for the most part, thinking of how I’ve captured this trip in words that’ll allow me to relive it over and over again whenever I want to, never forgetting the life-changing trip it was.
I’ve strengthened my relationships with my family in these 50 days, and I feel it’s a smaller-scale version of the changes Onkar went through — he was always been mature around friends but his behaviour changed drastically around family, from a tantrum throwing teenager to a relatively understanding young adult — when he did his undergrad here.
That might just be an effect that Japan has on you. I don’t know, you’ll have to visit to find out for yourself.
I’ve fed bits of a new language into my brain, learning more and more through immersion even after the JLPT. I’m 100% I’ll continue to do so because I know this won’t be my last time in Japan. I’m already thinking about when I can come back. I’m not done with this place. Not even close.
So… until next time.
じゃあね, 日本。
See you soon, Japan.