THE GRASS MAY BE GREENER, BUT THERE IS TRULY NO PLACE LIKE HOME

BY 

LESLIE-ANN LAYLOR

 Part two of the story of a young Jamaican woman’s journey to Japan…and back

Read Part One Here

            It is often said that the grass is greener on the other side. It is all too easy to dismiss this saying as nothing more than a cliché. I know I would have. I was enjoying my time in Japan; the greener grass. I did not look back at Jamaica with thoughts that it could hold what I had always been looking for. In this foreign place, I had my first real taste of freedom. I paid my own bills, rented my own space, bought whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted and could be whoever I wanted to be. This new country, with its inviting people and spectacular culture, had me hooked.

            The teacher who had given me a hard time in the beginning grew to depend heavily on me. His classes and his students became my favourites. The anxiety I felt each morning before I headed off to work didn’t vanish entirely but it became manageable. Over time, I grew to be on good terms with my Japanese teachers—and became  ‘best friends’ with my principal (even though he didn’t know it, haha). Most of them did not speak English, but I began to enjoy our half charade conversations while we tried to communicate. This trend continued outside of work. I met a group of foreigners who lived within minutes of my apartment and a few Japanese who welcomed me warmly into their homes.

In short, I was being paid well and treated as ‘one of the gang’ wherever I went. Of course, I still got stares, but I no longer saw them as a means of shutting me out. I came to realize they came from a place of curiosity. The braver among the Japanese (usually the elderly, believe it or not!) would come up to me. It didn’t matter to them that I may not speak Japanese. They came with warm smiles and used what English words they knew. I remember an impromptu conversation I had with an elderly man I’d ridden by many mornings on my way to catch my train. The light had gone red as I approached, much to my annoyance, but that annoyance dimmed at the sound of Ohayo gozaimasu(good morning). Our little curb-side conversation ended when the light turned green. As I rode off, he said to me ganbatte kudasai (please do your best). It is a somewhat difficult sentiment to translate but it meant so much coming from a perfect stranger wishing me the best.

So what went wrong?

That is where the earlier cliché comes in. Everything was going great, but there was something missing. I would have regular calls with my family and feel my heart sink every time they mentioned another family gathering, celebration, loss, or gain. I began to physically feel the distance that sat between us. My twin would call and I would hear everyone else in the background while I sat in my empty apartment.

During my time in Japan, I gained a better understanding of myself, my priorities and what my goals were. As it turned out, Japan was the wrong place to accomplish them.

I became restless and unhappy.

The salary that made me smile on the 25^th of each month could scarcely tug at the corners of my lips anymore. The job I grew to enjoy began to feel like a room without a door. The routine and predictability embedded in Japanese culture and daily life, while it once comforted me, began to make me feel stagnant. It was time to leave. I had new goals, new plans for my life and a new outlook. I did not need to go abroad to be happy. My happiness came from the ones I had left behind and the familiarity of my homeland. Suddenly, Jamaica was looking like the only place I wanted to be—I never thought I’d see the day.

Mind made up, I resigned my position effective at the end of the school year March 2020, and had my tickets booked. That’s when the world began its descent into the chaos of a COVID-19; the beginning of a never ending sea of uncertainty. Masks, hand sanitizer and social distancing were the new norm. My flight home was cancelled, leaving me unemployed in a foreign country with an apartment set to be cancelled. It was a crushing blow. I had begun my countdown at day 71 and, on day 7, I had no choice but to send an email to my company asking to remain in my position and my apartment. I felt my stomach churn every time I had to explain that I was no longer leaving, a pain amplified by the sudden look of glee from those who heard. They were glad I was staying and I was certainly not.

Each day past my flight was a struggle. My mind was filled with thoughts of all the things I could do if only I could have gone home. The school year ended and began with me still in Japan. It was a frustrating time. Corona arrived at our door. Policies were put in place to reduce the spread and these policies left me all the more frustrated. Our schools closed, but we went in each day. By then, I knew enough Japanese to know my teachers were complaining day in and day out of being bored with nothing to do. At some point, I was ordered to work from home, now required to provide proof of work I’d done all day when at work, this was never the case (how could it be when the consensus stood that there was nothing to do?). I had to find work for myself, work my school neither wanted nor requested, for the sake of appearing busy.

I couldn’t understand it!

By June, our students returned and that was when I sent in my resignation letter. The word had come out, the Jamaican border was reopening and I would not allow it to close with me on the wrong side for a second time. A part of me felt guilty quitting before the year ended the following March, after all, it was a commitment that I had made. My school was under the impression I would be there. My students had begun the school year with the expectation they would see me daily. However, this wasn’t enough to change my mind. More than my fear of letting them all down, I feared being trapped in the country I once clambered to get to.

I had to get out!

And so I did, on August 11, 2020. I was aware of the risk of taking such a long flight and having layovers in the United States. I also understood I would need to be quarantined when I got home. I’ll tell you this; there was nothing more satisfying than disembarking that American Airlines flight and seeing the words ‘Welcome home.’

Through this little adventure of self-discovery, I’ve learned the truth behind yet another cliché. It is true what they say, there really is no place like home.

Read Part One of Leslie’s Story Here