It was supposed to be just like any other homecoming to Japan.
I had no special expectations and few plans, and, as always, I intended to shift the focus of my life back to Japan for a little while.
But when I got here, my "staying in Japan early summer 2025 edition" had taken on almost a fantasy-like colouring.
My stay in Japan felt like witnessing a quiet yet steady change in my life—like watching a tide slowly turn, carrying parts of me I didn't know were waiting to be moved.
First of all, my work had been cut down, and I wasn't exactly financially well off, but I decided to fulfil my promise with Siddharth's niece, whom I had known since she was almost a baby, to be with her when she got a job and started an entirely new life in Chiang Mai, Thailand.
I spent most of my savings and even used my credit card instalments to head to Thailand. The few days I spent with her there felt more like a small gift than a journey for both of us—a fleeting, precious moment suspended in time that neither of us will ever forget.
Even now, when I think back on it, it feels unrealistic to me, but I managed to meet my favourite Pakistani rider cum world's famous YouTuber, Abrar Hassan, aka "Wildlens By Abrar," twice.
The first time was at a fan meeting in Osaka.
Surrounded by so many Pakistani fans, I got so nervous that I ended up speaking to him in broken German, and by the end of the meeting, I didn't even know what I was saying. My heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear my voice.
But that wasn't the end of it, and that was the biggest surprise of the trip.
Later, Abrar even came to visit me, who was so fishy in front of him, at my mother's home in Fukuoka, where I was staying.
I still can't believe that it happened.
However, that day, as I looked up at his face, smelled the scent of voyage rising from his rider jacket, and peered into his eyes as we talked, sparks of someone who loves landscapes were evident. There was a depth in him, a quiet strength that absorbed the stories of every road he had ever travelled.
What I learn from his personality and his work is not just that "the video images are beautiful."
Familiar everyday life and boring scenery can become colourful and vibrant if we choose to make them so. He and his works demonstrate to us an excellent example of how to approach life itself—with eyes wide open and a heart ready to find wonder in the mundane.
Amidst all of this, on June 22nd, I even took on the somewhat reckless challenge of taking the Level 2 proficiency exam of German, Diplom Deutsch in Japan, having studied the language for only a little over a year.
Whatever the outcome, I'm just happy that I at least tried. Because sometimes trying itself is the quietest, bravest kind of triumph.
Just before returning home to Pune, I briefly met a high school classmate at Fukuoka Airport for the first time in 20 years.
We were able to reconnect through social media, as her family had been stationed in Bangalore for 2.5 years until the beginning of this year.
The passage of time may reconnect people in a gentler way than we think—a soft thread that slowly rewinds its way into your life when you need it most.
And in the fall, my mother in Japan is coming to visit me in Pune.
Little by little, something is slowly starting to move.
My days are still not always smooth sailing.
I occasionally suffer from depression and anxiety, and for a long time, I was groping my way through the darkness, unable to find solid ground.
However, I've recently begun to understand how precious and vital it is to "live in the moment."
Not as an idea but as a survival instinct—an act of faith.
There are days when I can't find anything to do.
There are mornings when I wake up feeling hopeless.
But amid those times, too, I can try to grab even the slightest slice of motivation.
I may think of someone I want to meet.
Those moments could shine a light on me.
And sometimes, that light—no matter how faint—is enough to keep going.
