Dawn Over the Harbor

As seems to be the usual for me in Asia, I wake up before my partner does and make the little cups of hotel‑room coffee — those sad sacrifices to the caffeine gods that exist solely to jump‑start the day. We have one more night left in this hotel, and a lot to do to get the house even minimally ready for us to move in. Bedding, bed frames, and all the other essentials are at the forefront of my mind, and I’m already trying to figure out how to get everything delivered and set up in time. It’s a race against the clock, but outside, it’s still dark, and the sun is only just beginning to poke its head over the eastern horizon.

I pour myself a cup of coffee and walk over to the window to watch the morning light show unfold over the harbor. People are already out fishing along the harbor walls, and small boats are puttering about, preparing to head out to sea to catch their daily bread. I cherish these quiet hours. They’ve always been my time to reflect, write, and map out the day ahead. And since I already know what I need to accomplish today, my thoughts drift toward Joy and the state of her inner world.

The Weight Beneath the Surface

I haven’t had much time to ponder whatever’s been working its way through her mind. We’ve been busy — new country, new house, new logistics — and the pace hasn’t left much room for deeper emotional processing. I can speculate, but speculation isn’t the same as knowing. And sometimes people just need space to work through what’s weighing on them without someone constantly asking what’s wrong while also reminding them you’re there for them.

-image credit: stolen from a meme somewhere on the internet

It reminds me of when I quit smoking. You make the announcement, and people celebrate your decision with you. Next thing you know, they start asking how it’s going, and suddenly you’re forced to think about the very thing you’re working hard not to think about. Now you’re spiraling, imagining the person asking is the world’s largest Zippo lighter and their hair is on fire while you’re dancing around them, chain‑smoking and cackling like a madman. And the worst part? When people don’t ask how it’s going, somehow they’re assholes too. Like what, you don’t care enough about me and what I’m going through to ask? Fuck you, Bill! It be like that sometimes. Our brains are jerks, and emotions are messy, contradictory, and above all else, human. The key is finding a balance between the two extremes.

That’s why, in our quieter moments, I’ve asked Joy how she’s doing and then given her space to process without my input or nagging. If there’s a moral here, it’s this: quitting smoking is hard, but dealing with other people while quitting smoking is harder. The same goes for navigating our own emotional landscape and the landmines that inevitably come with it.

The sunrise is coming faster now, and the sky is beginning to glow. Golden Hour is upon us. I sip my coffee and savor the moment. Slowly, Joy begins to stir, so I make her a cup as well and hand it to her so she can enjoy the view.

“How’s your knee?” I ask.

She gives me a small, sad smile. “It’s fine. If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll skip breakfast this morning.”

I smile back, but I know this has nothing to do with her knee. Now I’m genuinely worried.

“Okay. Can I bring you anything? Or would you rather order on your own today?”

“I’ll order on my own. I have a sense of what I want, and it’ll just be easier that way.”

“Okay. How are you otherwise?”

“I’m okay. I just need a day off and to recover, that’s all.”

“I’m glad you’re taking the time you need to heal. Please call or text if you want anything while I’m out. Do you have any preferences for bedding or sheets?”

“No, I trust your judgment.”

The Dangerous Gift of Trust

That’s a dangerous place to be. When your partner trusts you to choose bedding, it’s simultaneously a gift and a burden. My gut tells me she’s teetering on the edge of walking away from this whole adventure, and the wrong choice here could reinforce that notion. Especially since she’s discovered something I know all too well: beds in Asia tend to be much firmer than what we’re used to in America. In Thailand, the term I heard often was “monk mattress.” Firm but fair. Most beds in Asia fall into that category.

Culturally speaking, our everyday objects tend to say something about us. Asians are efficient people with a profound sense of economics, and that finds its way into everyday objects like beds. Americans, on the other hand, value comfort above all else. We don’t want to sleep on something that reminds us of our failures but is ultimately good for keeping ourselves aligned. We want our mattresses to be everything — comfort, support, emotional therapy, and a charging station for our souls. If we want to sleep on penance, we’ll pull out an air mattress and live like refugees for a night to remind ourselves how good we have it back in our palaces of comfort.

Stepping Out Alone

With that in mind, breakfast is starting soon, and DCM opens shortly after. So I get ready for the day, kiss Joy, wish her a wonderful day off, and head out the door. The day feels like the music of Joe Hisaishi: a little melancholic, but hopeful, and full of promise.

The Tom & Jerry Principle

-image credit, https://www.deviantart.com/larrykoopafan2006/art/Animated-Atrocities-Tot-Watchers-843948424

I go down to the buffet, eat a good, hearty breakfast, then hail a cab to take me to DCM. The cab drops me off, and for the first time since arriving in Japan, I am truly on my own — and not to be overly dramatic, it feels fantastic. The thing about my partner that I am hesitant to mention is that sometimes going out with her is stressful. Do you remember the old school cartoons where there was a baby that walked around in construction sites, completely oblivious to everything going on around them? Sometimes, that’s exactly how my partner is, and I have to split my time and attention between the subject I want to focus on and keeping an eye on her. I can’t decide if that’s the ADHD, or she has her own code of safety that the rest of us can’t decipher, or some cosmic blessing that makes the world bend around her for her own protection. This isn’t to put her down — she’s delightful to go out with — it’s context. Not having to watch out for concrete mixers and steel I‑beams while trying to shop feels pretty nice. Fortunately, she’s aware of this aspect of herself, and also pokes a little fun at it, so she won’t be pissed when she finds out I’ve written it into my little story here. I think. Maybe. I digress.

Bedding, frames, delivery times, comfort levels… all of it has the potential to either help Joy feel grounded or push her further into whatever emotional upheaval she’s struggling with. And I want to be aware of that, while also being conscientious about our budget and my own sleeping‑princess needs. I need blankets that are heavy but breathable, pillows that are supportive without being firm, that also remain cool to the touch, and preferably a mattress that won’t punish my sins too hard but still feel like forgiveness when I fall asleep. And if I can find some sort of device that will magically take the humidity down a few notches and bring the room’s temperature to a perfect 18.9 degrees Celsius (we’re in Asia, metric rules here, you do the math), then I’ve found the holy grail.

Entering the Temple of DCM

With all that swirling in my head, I push my cart forward and step into the shopping world of DCM. The familiar smell of lumber, cleaning products, and the faint metallic tang of tools hits me immediately. It’s the scent of possibility. Or chaos. Sometimes both.

I make a beeline for the bedding section, which in Japan is a fascinating blend of practicality and precision. Everything is neatly packaged, clearly labeled, and stacked with the kind of geometric discipline that would make a Marine drill instructor weep with joy. And yet, despite all that order, I still feel like a toddler wandering into a graduate‑level exam.

I stand there staring at rows of bedding options, trying to decode firmness levels from pictures. Japan doesn’t do the whole “plush, medium, firm” thing. No. They do “hard,” “harder,” and “your ancestors will feel this.” I test a few by pressing my hand into the plastic packaging, which is about as effective as trying to judge a book by tapping on its dust jacket. Still, I persist, because that’s what you do when you don’t have a choice.

Now, as a guy, I can tell you that over the course of my life, I haven’t bought more than maybe two mattresses. American mattress shopping is a thing, but Japanese bedding is a world unto itself. There’s an elegance to it — layers that can be rearranged with the seasons, materials chosen for breathability, durability, and ease of cleaning. It’s a system, not a product. And as I’m standing there, I realize I’m learning a whole new language, one mattress pad at a time.

Learning Japanese bedding terminology feels less like shopping and more like deciphering an ancient script left behind by a civilization that valued lumbar integrity above all else. Every label has a firmness scale that seems to operate on a different plane of existence. I scan a label with my phone, hoping Google Translate will save me, only for it to spit out phrases like “moderately endurable sleep surface” or “recommended for disciplined bodies.” Never mind the pillows. Those come in two varieties: under‑stuffed or ergonomically contoured to a specific shape that no human body possesses, both of which are too small.

Metric Madness

Still, I manage to load up my cart with two mattresses‑in‑a‑box, bedframes, pillows, winter‑weighted comforters, sheets, and pillowcases — all of which are measured in metric. And I can tell you: Americans aren’t equipped to handle that. We can figure out language things, mostly. Units of measurement, though? Good luck. We understand Starbucks sizing and mattresses described in terms of people and their states, but don’t ask us how big 45 centimeters is, much less 10 degrees Celsius. We don’t have any concept of that nonsense. If things don’t get three hogs’ heads to the chode, or you can’t stuff five bananas in it for scale, we have no idea what we’re dealing with.

At any rate, I finished my shopping excursion in under three hours (don’t judge me, I’m slow, okay?). Now I just need to get all of it up to the house. I look at my overstuffed cart and think of the taxis we’ve ridden in. Clearly, I did not think this through. There is no way this mountain of bedding is fitting into a taxi with me. Fortunately, I have a cunning plan.

A Cunning Plan

I walk over to the front counter, pull out my trusty Google machine, and ask it to translate whether they have delivery. The lady behind the counter laughs and says her English is okay, giving me a smile and the OK gesture.

Phew. That’s a relief!

I ask again whether they have delivery, and she informs me that they do. I write down my address — the first time I’ve ever done that — and hope I’ve written it correctly. The last thing I want to do is send my delivery drivers on a scavenger hunt that has no payout for them or reward for me. She smiles, takes my slip of paper, plugs it into her computer, and turns the monitor around to face me. I see my house on the map. Solid victory. I say yes. She then informs me that the next available delivery date is three days away.

Fuck.

That means Joy and I are going to have to make some decisions about sleeping arrangements. So much for my cunning plan. Still, I accept it and pay the delivery fee. She hands me a receipt and takes my stuff. I bow, thank her, and head for the door.

While all of this was going on, I didn’t realize that Joy had been hard at work back in the hotel room. She’d messaged me several times while I was busy planning out the bedding we’d use for the rest of our lives (please refer to the earlier statement about how many mattresses I’ve bought in my lifetime), and I did what most guys do when they’re completely engrossed in whatever task is in front of them: I ignored her.

And yet, somehow, Joy — being the intuitive person she is — understood the situation I was in. Truly, she was in her element. She informed me that she had figured out how Amazon works here in Japan and ordered air mattresses, a steamer, a couch, and a refrigerator (the loser kind, not the family‑sized one). And the air mattresses were going to show up tomorrow. That’s what we needed. Perfect. The gods are smiling down upon us gaijin, here in our own peaceful little town.

This also means that I have no business to conduct at our house today, and my own schedule just opened up a bit more. I step outside and decide this is the perfect day to walk to the train station and take the train across town back to our hotel. As the crow flies, the hotel is only about three miles away. It’s very walkable, but the train sounds lovely, and it would be good to get used to public transit — one of the things I wanted access to in our rich‑life dream. So, I start walking to Otaru Station, taking in all the sights, sounds, and smells, and enjoying every moment of it. For the moment, I’ve pushed all the worries from my mind — bedding, the house, my partner’s woes — simply to be present. Overall, it’s an uneventful trip, and getting to the other end of town is easier than I expected. I walk through the mall, enjoy seeing people living their everyday lives, and scout out a few places to eat along the way.

Tonkatsu and Truths

I get back to the hotel room and find Joy in bed, smiling a genuine smile for the first time in what feels like days. She’s feeling better; my heart feels lighter seeing this. She’s lying in bed, enjoying her lunch. She asks how my shopping went, and I give her the blow‑by‑blow experience. She tells me she knew that was probably going to be the case, so she figured out Amazon to order air mattresses for exactly this reason. It was an intuitive move; the sort of thing she’s really good at. I figure if we have guests at some point, then we have something for them to sleep on, so that’s not a bad option.

She’s feeling better, and it’s contagious. I asked her what she’d like for dinner, and we agreed to try a place in the mall that looks like it has amazing pork tonkatsu. Later that night, as we’re eating, I ask her how she’s doing. She smiles. “Much better. I think I just needed some downtime to sit still and not move, and my knee was a good excuse. It still hurts, but there was more.”

“Oh?” I ask.

“Yes. I have to tell you, there was a moment where I was like, ‘I can’t do this. I’m not like you.’ Then I decided to embrace this because this is a gift, and the life we’ve been envisioning.”

I feel instant relief.

“I’m glad to hear that. I was really worried about your mental state — that being away from your family like this was a bridge too far, and that you were ready to pull the plug on this before we even got started.”

“I was ready to do that. I wanted to do that. Something told me to stop. I’m glad I listened.”

“Me too,” I say, and shove another piece of fried pork in my mouth. Joy smiles, and in that moment, everything is well with the world. The future we envisioned was saved.

Say Yes to the Journey

The thing about culture shock is that it hits differently for everyone. Everyone will have at least one moment in their time abroad. It can strike anytime, anywhere, for any reason. You can be walking down the street, having a lovely moment, and suddenly something imperceptible switches, and all the sweet people you’ve been interacting with can feel empty, hollow, or even downright sinister. It’s part of the journey. But the thing that’s also true is that it forces you to be present in your life and to say “yes” to this part of your journey. People who don’t lean in go back and report how bad things are. People who work through it say their journey was life‑altering. Either way, you may not be able to choose your reaction to it, but if you know yourself and what you need for comfort in that moment, then it’s okay to embrace it, sit in it, and come to terms with where you’re at. I’m proud of my partner for getting to this point in her own journey, but I’m also proud of everyone who has said yes to things that terrify them and done it anyway. From that moment on, your life is different — better, stronger. Keep embracing it.