A Quarter Century in Japan : My Love for Tokyo, Osaka and Chiba

There is a certain kind of magic that only Japan possesses—a quiet reverence woven through its neon glow, its centuries-old shrines nestled beside skyscrapers, its poetic contradictions. Since 1999, I have returned year after year, drawn like a moth to the amber-lit warmth of izakayas, the rhythm of a culture that never ceases to surprise and inspire me. Japan is no longer just a destination—it is a part of my personal rhythm, my annual ritual, my second home.

Tokyo is where my heart beats a little faster. The energy is electric, alive in every alleyway and department store, in the subtle elegance of a well-prepared sashimi platter, or the hurried elegance of a salaryman’s stride at Shibuya crossing. Yet, even in its speed, Tokyo holds moments of stillness. I find them in early-morning walks through Ueno Park, in the quiet hum of vending machines at midnight, in a bowl of ramen that tastes like memory.

Osaka, in contrast, is a different kind of thrill—a city with a playful spirit, a laughter that bubbles up in its food stalls and its people. The takoyaki sizzles, the shopkeepers call out with a cheer that makes you feel welcome in their world. The izakayas here are loud, full of life, and somehow manage to feel intimate all at once. I have lost count of the number of conversations I’ve had with strangers over skewers and sake, where language was secondary to shared joy.

And then there is Chiba—quieter, gentler. It has been my retreat when I sought peace, a place where the waves of the Pacific whisper stories, and the city moves to a softer rhythm. It reminds me that not all of Japan shouts; some parts of it sing.

Over twenty-five years, these places have become more than pins on a map. They hold fragments of my life—meals that healed me, streets that taught me, shopfronts where I lingered too long just to take it all in. I’ve watched seasons shift through their streets, seen technology evolve and skylines rise, but the soul of Japan—the grace, the hospitality, the sense of belonging—has never changed.

Every time I return, I discover something new. And every time I leave, I carry a little more of Japan within me.