Prologue (Episode 2): Why I Escaped to Japan Alone
I had always wanted to travel to Japan alone. Everyone said it was safe, convenient, friendly—basically the Disneyland of solo travel.
But the truth went deeper.
I was exhausted. Properly worn out.
Recently promoted to offshore mud logger without training, without a mentor, without any survival manual except my own tears.
Every shift felt like a one-person survival show.
So yes—I wanted a break from work, from people, from noise… maybe from the entire planet.
Offshore life makes taking leave surprisingly easy—not because the job is gentle or forgiving, but simply because when your schedule is fixed, everyone knows exactly when you’ll vanish from the rig.
It gives you the illusion that you can plan anything far in advance.
Illusion being the key word.
Because every now and then, an urgent phone call swoops in like a hungry seagull searching for your last French fry.
But not today.
Today, the universe behaved itself.
Only my bank account, however, had opinions. Many opinions.
And so, armed with mild exhaustion, and an overconfident belief that I could “find myself,”
I boarded a plane to Japan. A solo adventure sounded glamorous—romantic even, like something written in a travel memoir—but mine began with me half-asleep, clutching a boarding pass like it might run away if I blinked too hard.
By the time I landed, Japan welcomed me with that hinyari chill, a polite bow of cold air that whispered, “Irasshai… but hurry up, you’re blocking the line.”
Somehow, the chaos felt comforting. Maybe I needed exactly that—noise, movement, a fresh place where nobody knew my job title or how many times I’d nearly cried on an oil rig.
The immigration officer stamped my passport in five calm seconds, restoring my faith in humanity.
And just like that, I was in a new country with no one to report to, nowhere I needed to be yet, and no responsibilities other than keeping myself alive.
Japan felt like an unscripted chapter that had been waiting quietly for me to show up.
A quiet adventure, wrapped in steam, mountains, and the faint smell of convenience-store fried chicken.
And somewhere between exhaustion and curiosity, I realized:
This trip wasn’t just a holiday.
It was an escape.
A reset button.
A tiny rebellion against burnout.
And maybe, if the onsen gods were kind, a chance to soak my problems away one mineral bath at a time.
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