Loneliness in Japan
- Luciana Ramírez
- Dec 26, 2025
- 5 min read
We move and immigrate for better opportunities, but we must leave behind a whole life to obtain it. It's a global phenomenon happening every minute:
Mexicans, Colombians, Venezuelans move to the US.
Indians, Pakistanis and Polish go to England.
Vietnamese, Chinese, Mongolians and South Koreans go to Japan.
Immigrants take their dreams, hopes and fears and put it inside a 25 kg suitcase, check it in the counter and leave their country. (and that is if they have the privilege to even do it that way...)
This baggage is heavy, as not only carries around the scarf, necklace, ring or whatever precious item their grandma gave them, but also something that cannot be measured in the airport's stainless steel scale.
It carries their dreams, their aspirations, their family's expectations, their friend's last shoulder pat, and the memory of a beloved country that they are, in a way, running away from.
My baggage had some chips fuego (a mexican top class delicacy) my favorite jeans and a pair of boots. I packed light by necessity and choice. I left the heavy coats behind, as much as the certainty and comfort of the same language that had shaped me from a very early age, the neighborhood that witnessed my transformation from a girl to a woman and spicy -delicious- food that could bring life to the deadest of souls.
So I brought the only thing I knew it was absolutely necessary: My sh11tty Mexican passport, my love and passion (I'd even say addiction!) to learning new things, some rusty Japanese skills, and the stubborn belief that I could learn the rules and culture of this crazy new life to a point I could live comfortably and happy.
And that ended up happening...! — or did it? —
After almost two years living in this amazing country, Japan, I adapted myself to the culture, rules, dress code, even 考え方 (way of thinking). I knew that after a meal you had to say "gouchisou sama deshita" - "thanks for the food" and that you had to return your cutlery to a specific area in the café. Hell, I even separated the trash in the most precise way; taking off the plastic from the water bottle, rinsing the bottle, throwing away organic waste only on Wednesdays and Saturdays... you know, the Japanese way.
As time flew by, I familiarized myself with my new environment, I could have conversations about Japanese culture, temples, Shintoism, Buddhism, the weather, Ryuichi Sakamoto, Yayoi Kusama... I was actually fitting in this world?!
But I felt something missing. My daily conversations about wellbeing, politics, society, life, art, and mental health completely disappeared. Even the hugs went away. Yes, the apapachos.
I realized I could talk for hours about this culture that I deeply loved: as a Japanese teacher, I knew about Japan's history, language, norms, society and food. After all this time, all my knowledge about Japan had to be paying off.
But... I was still Mexican! Where had my witty humor gone to? Where could I go to listen to Zoé, Panteon Rococó, or the most vile reggaeton you've ever heard of? Where could I go to dance with my friends while sipping a michelada?
Who could I talk about the recent femicide and showcase my anger and sadness?
Who could I talk to about my family?
Who could I turn to when I felt sad and alone? Who could I reach out to when I was sick?
Who could I cry to?
Who could I tell that I sometimes felt alone?
Who could I talk to about my culture and be actually understood?
I knew all about this country, but this country knew nothing of me.
In Mexico, it is very normal to ask your friends about your family: "Hey, how is your sister doing?! Did she graduate from college? Oh, and your mom? Did her operation go smoothly? Is she okay now? And how are you?!"
I tried this with my friends in Tokyo. I would ask them, "So, how's your family doing?!" And 90% of the reactions I got would be somehow like this image. Answers would range from: "okay" to "fine".
I realized that by asking what I thought to be a normal question would turn out to be incredibly awkward and personal.
I understood that these conversations were not exactly the norm, so I stuck with the same topics that would keep me out of the danger zone of awkwardness.
But, just how a 9-5 job turns you into a soulless person with no energy to do anything but to - work and survive - this impediment or limit that didn't allow me to talk about things that were important to me started to make me feel exactly like that.
Like a Fallout 4 ghoul left alive after a nuclear war. You just coexist with your environment and survive with the most boring soul eating conversations ever known to humans.
Back in my hometown I could talk to Ericka, Angie and Fatima about psychoanalysis and how humans never ceased to be satisfied. We talked about how hard it can be to put limits in our relationships, some of us shared Avelina Lesper's point of view and disliked what contemporary art had turned into, while some of us were a little more hopeful. We even talked about Freud's perspective on woman's mental health. Was he being misogynist, using terms as hysteria to our "repressed emotional trauma"? Well, I don't know and that's not today's topic, but we sure got into very interesting debates.
I started asking myself: is this what loneliness feels like?
And what is the difference between healthy solitude vs draining loneliness?
I now gained a good, well-balanced life. I worked in the mornings teaching Japanese and I modeled in the afternoons. I had time to read, paint and enjoy my free time.
But I had no one to talk to about life.
I think solitude is when you choose to stay in bed, the peaceful quiet night you willfully choose for yourself.
Loneliness feels like having a self that can't be fully expressed, a neglected emotional connection with your surroundings.
Is this some sort of ridiculous, ironic life lesson? Once I get what I desired the most, such as safety, quality life and an -okay- salary, I start missing the beautiful fulfilling conversations AND connections I had with my friends?
Are human beings always destined to yearn for what they don't have? Do we have to be miserable all the time? I like to think that I'm just asking for the connections and amazing people that I've always been surrounded by, but also what I deserve.
Humans deserve happiness, to laugh, cherish and love. And also to walk safely in a well planned city with a top-notch public transportation.
Me, you, all of us do.
So, I was able to build a life with the tools and baggage I brought from Mexico City. My passion for new experiences, my rusty Japanese- and it worked. They built me a well-lit, safe, quiet and orderly room with a tatami floor. And I understand that the loneliness is a tax for this comfortable life that I chose.
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