Three Months in Japan: Late Nights, Love, and Linguistics

Tokyo at night has a pulse. A rhythm. Somewhere between the hum of vending machines and the neon-lit solitude of a 24-hour ramen joint, you realize you’re completely alone—but never lonely. That’s where I found myself when I first landed in Japan. Three months, technically “living” here, but mostly existing in a nocturnal limbo, working U.S. hours and sleeping through the daylight. Immersion? Let’s not kid ourselves. I wasn’t out there debating the finer points of izakaya etiquette with old salarymen. I was lurking in the shadows, subsisting on convenience store sandwiches and the occasional bowl of soba at an ungodly hour.

And yet, Japan still got under my skin. Maybe it was the effortless efficiency, the quiet dignity of the ordinary, or maybe it was her—the woman who would eventually convince me that I should do more than just float through this place like a ghost with a VPN connection.

December: A Decision, A Language, A Future

By December, things had shifted. We were serious. Love makes you do stupid things—like willingly subject yourself to the slow, ego-crushing process of learning a new language. Her English? Great. No problems there. But if this was going to be something real, something built to last, I had to stop being the guy who nodded politely while hoping Google Translate didn’t betray him. What if we moved back here someday? What if I wanted to be more than just another clueless foreigner ordering beer in painfully slow katakana?

I had to learn. And I had to learn the hard way.

Phase One: Delusion and Denial (The Duolingo Disaster)

Like an idiot, I started with Duolingo. Three months, and I completed exactly one lesson. That’s it. I thought I was making progress—until the internet kindly informed me that Duolingo’s Japanese is about as effective as learning how to cook by licking a recipe book. My streak died. My pride took a hit. And I realized I needed real tools.

Phase Two: Buying Books, Letting Them Collect Dust

December rolled in, and I got serious. Bought Genki 1 & 2, Remembering the Kanji, and subscribed to Wanikani. You know, all the things you buy when you want to convince yourself you’re committed. Then I promptly ignored them. January came and went. My books sat there like abandoned New Year’s resolutions, untouched and judgmental. The only real progress? I finally memorized hiragana and katakana, so at least I could read menus without looking like a toddler trying to decode ancient script.

By February, though, the guilt caught up with me.

Phase Three: Flashcards, Fear, and Forward Motion

“Either commit or quit.” That’s what I told myself. So, I committed—to Anki, my new best friend and worst enemy.

From February to mid-March, I crammed 800-900 words into my brain, all in hiragana. No kanji yet. Baby steps. I wanted to understand, to hear the words in my head before I worried about deciphering the complex, tangled web of kanji. I wasn’t trying to pass a test—I was trying to function, to understand, to get a grip on the rhythm of the language before diving into the deep end.

March 9: A Plan, A Grind, A Long Road Ahead

Now, I’ve finally settled into a daily routine that doesn’t feel like I’m just throwing spaghetti at the wall:

• One sub-lesson from Genki (because grammar, unfortunately, exists).
• 20-30 new words from the Kaishi 1.5k Anki deck (because vocabulary is king).
• Wanikani reviews (finally starting kanji, slowly, painfully).
• 10 kanji from Remembering the Kanji (because I’m tired of pretending I don’t need it).
• One Pimsleur audio lesson (because I need to hear real Japanese, not just my own terrible attempts).
• A little Duolingo, for the dopamine hit (useless, but oddly satisfying).

This isn’t some quick-fix, overnight success story. It’s slow. Frustrating. Full of tiny victories and constant setbacks. But that’s the thing about learning a language—it’s like learning a city. You don’t just memorize maps; you wander, you get lost, you stumble into places that make you never want to leave.

The Vibe Check: Still Here, Still Grinding

So here I am. A guy with a pile of flashcards, a Japanese girlfriend who laughs at my pronunciation, and a stubborn determination to figure this out. It’s not glamorous. It’s not easy. But it’s real. And maybe, just maybe, one day I’ll be able to order something at a restaurant without second-guessing myself.

Until then—back to the grind.