First stop: Tokyo.

We checked into our hotel and immediately went outside, eager to explore the city. Even walking down a half-empty street next to a highway, I was hypnotised by a world that was so different from anything I had ever experienced. I looked up at the buildings that, with a lifespan of only about 50 years, felt both new and lived in at the same time. My mother was not yet impressed.

We drove to the restaurant (Ryori) where I had made a reservation. We were greeted by the same owner whom I had a very silent phone call with prior to our arrival. He was also a chef, and we proceeded to have a very fun conversation via our translator apps. It was a small room with bottles, cutlery, books and little trinkets lying about, inviting to feel at home. We sat down for our omakase dinner, ready to take in the food and chase it down with copious amounts of Sake. The chef explained each dish as he carefully placed it on the table, and I tried to break the tension of a language barrier with some light-hearted jokes. They did not really translate, though. I made it more awkward instead. I gave up halfway through.

As we were finishing our tenth dish, the chef complimented my use of chopsticks, and it felt like the validation I was missing my whole life. I can retire from the exhilarating race of striving for people’s approval. I will always have the memory of a Japanese chef complimenting my chopstick skills to brighten my day.

The next couple of days, a tour guide showed us around the city. In the evenings, we would explore bars in different neighbourhoods. We would wake up at 8 AM and get back home at midnight. Attempting to maintain some sort of work schedule, I would go to bed at 2 or 3 after several hours of get-lag-fuelled writing. I was sleep deprived, exhausted, my legs hurt from a minimum of 20000 steps a day, my stomach was full yet always hungry for more Japanese snacks, and I loved every second of it.

After witnessing the absolutely inconceivable number of 7-Eleven shops that populate the streets of Japan, my mother and I created a game. Every time one of us would spot the shop, we had to very loudly proclaim, ‘7-Eleven. ‘ Whoever spots the shop first wins. We kept a count. It was supposed to be a fun little activity to make our trip extra special. Cut to me forcing myself awake at 11 PM on the drive back home just in case I see another shop hiding around the corner and one-up my mother (the lady who literally gave me life, so, like, I could just let her fucking win, couldn’t I). In the end, she did win. We were tied 10-10 as we arrived at the airport, so I thought I could finally relax. Suddenly, my mother screamed the familiar words. It was a small shop in the airport terminal that tipped the scales in her favour. I was lowkey pissed, but, oh well.

So, back to the trip. The vintage shopping, the food, the vibes, everything is exactly how everyone says it is, fucking incredible and overstimulating in the best way.

I found a vintage Hermes jacket for a price my eye could not believe. I wear her often, mostly because it’s a cool jacket, but also in case I get a chance to answer ‘I got it in Tokyo‘ when asked about her origin. So if you see me wearing a light yellowish-brown leather cropped jacket, please, please just ask me where I got it.

At night, Shibuya lit the way for new adventures. The bright colours of the neighbourhood overwhelmed me. I have never seen a city so alive under the veil of the night sky. I tried not to freak out. I failed. I was freaking out a lot. My mother remained unimpressed.

We stopped at every shop we could see. Remembering that my boyfriend mentioned he likes KitKats, I made it a point to get a pack whenever I saw one. I saw them a lot. Japan really likes KitKat, apparently. Every time I spotted a new flavour, I grabbed it on instinct. In the end, I think I brought 20 different packs back home.

After hours of walking around, looking at shops and stopping by to read the menu of every single restaurant (still reeling from our three-course dinner, might I add), we stopped at a bar. We went down the stairs and indulged in cocktails and snacks. We spoke about life, love and existence while a record player stood on the side of the bar, echoing slow jazz tunes. Drunk on martinis with dried seafood snacks on the side, talking about the meaning of the universe with your mother is definitely a new level of adulting.

The next day, we went shopping, and a bag I had dreamt about for the last four years appeared hidden between mountains of scarves and wallets at the top shelf of a giant accessory-filled cupboard. I ran to it, checked the price and decided to fuck off instead.

We visited Akihabara, where the world of anime revealed itself one shop at a time. I got lost in five floors of toys, trinkets and figurines. Another part of Tokyo emerged before me, and I left with two giant shopping bags and my inner child healed. Mother—still unimpressed. I was beginning to worry about her ability to draw joy from new experiences.

Soon after that, we went to the makeup store, where my shopping bags tripled. It looked like I saw makeup for the first time. I grabbed everything I could. Almost in a race with myself, it felt like slowing down meant letting the vitamin C serums slip away, and I couldn’t allow that to happen.

Must. Have. All. Serums.

The most useful app I downloaded was called Payke, which allowed me to scan barcodes of beauty and pharmacy products to read English descriptions. Highly recommend.

I would also recommend downloading Go for taxis. Way faster than Uber.

We spent the last afternoon of our trip at a food market, tasting the best tuna and wagyu that has ever graced my taste buds. The beef, soft yet lean, and just the right amount of fatty. The tuna, fresh and aggressively flavourful. Mother was finally impressed. It was the first time I saw genuine enjoyment on her face. I lost her every five minutes as she wandered off to check out stand after stand.

A bullet train ride later, we were in Kyoto. The city was different, yet it still carried the fresh scent of the undiscovered. Kyoto was temples and forests. It was spiritual at its core, teaching me the amazing history of Japanese Shoguns throughout generations. To be honest, the TV show also taught me that. Which is why every time our tour guide would mention a new custom or tradition, I would cheerfully ask ‘Like in the TV show?’ Not sure if she cared for that.

Our first night took us to a small spot that served local dishes (found by me through the world’s top travel guide—TikTok). As we reached our destination, a sweet Japanese auntie met us and led us into the restaurant with a counter and a couple of tables at the back. She served us dishes of her choice, and each one was better than the last. The place was called Aoi. I highly recommend it. My mother was back to unimpressed.

After we made sure no temple in Kyoto remained unexplored, we headed to Osaka for a day. Osaka felt like a time capsule. We travelled back to the bright and loud 70s to see buildings untouched by modern revamping. Every sign, window and door had its own spirit. The giant moving crab on top of a seafood restaurant was pretty cool.

Our tour guide told me how to say ‘thank you‘ in a dialect specific to the Osaka region. The second I told the phrase to a shop owner after buying yet another KitKat, his face lit up. It was honestly a personal highlight.

We ate squid balls covered in cheese (very unique) and took a train to check out the expo. It was amazing, but that’s pretty obvious, it’s fucking expo. A 360-degree wooden bridge surrounded the pavilions. For the second (and last) time, my mother was finally impressed. She must have taken a hundred pictures of that bridge from every angle and insisted on going up to walk through it.

We returned to Tokyo for one last day, and I walked the street while the bittersweet sadness began to set in. Soon I would be back home, with a suitcase full of souvenirs. For the last couple of hours, we wandered around talking through the highlights of our trip. For me, it was everything. For my mother, the fish market and the bridge. Odd, but to each their own.

Okay, I’m finished. Now that I have gotten it out of my system, I can go on living without inserting Japan into every conversation.

FFS, who am I kidding? I’ll still do it.

It’s part of my personality now. Guess I’m that person. Oh well, whatever, it was gonna happen sooner or later. At least I have a trip to Japan as a consolation prize for being annoying.