Studying Japanese
My interest in the Japanese language and culture began in a way familiar to many. It grew from a spark of fascination rooted in pop culture, yet the path it led me down was shaped by circumstances deeply personal and unique. They say there is no such thing as a mere accident—that everything that happens to us is part of our fate. Looking back, I find some truth in this.
My journey to Japanese dates back to 2006, when I was a high school student, and begins with loss. The passing of my mother marked a significant turning point in my life.
My childhood was neither happy nor filled with understanding, support, or opportunities. I grew up in poverty, facing health challenges and struggling with my differences. From a young age, I had to care not only for myself but also for my entire family, including taking on the burden of cleaning up the chaos caused by my drug-addicted, mentally ill aunt. The loss of my mother brought both relief and pain—our relationship had always been strained, as her will to live, much less to change her circumstances, had died not long after I was born. Left alone with my elderly grandmother and unstable aunt, I sought an escape.
In the summer of my first year in high school, I travelled across the country to attend a fantasy festival. It was my first experience at such an event, and I felt lost amidst groups of people reminiscing about old times and drinking together. I had come alone and had little interest in joining those gatherings, as I was used to being a lone wolf. Wandering through the venue, I stumbled upon a narrow hallway leading to a small basement room. That year, the room was dedicated to anime, a genre I knew nothing about. Taking a seat, I waited for the program to begin, unaware that my life was about to change. The first anime I ever watched there was Wolf’s Rain, accompanied by poorly made Czech fan subtitles. Despite this, I was captivated by the story, the animation, and the strange, unfamiliar language.
Hearing Japanese for the first time struck a chord deep within me, despite the challenges I faced. A severe bout of meningitis at the age of four had damaged my hearing, leading to multiple surgeries and chronic ear infections that persist even now. As a result, I’m almost half-deaf and unable to distinguish certain frequencies or tones. This limitation made studying languages—German, in particular—a frustrating experience during my school years. My teachers and family never considered that my hearing issues might be hindering my learning, assured by doctors that I was perfectly fine. Seen as a healthy child needing only to “become a normal girl,” I endured hardships that instilled a dislike for foreign languages.
However, I shattered that barrier at thirteen when I began teaching myself English. With no resources beyond a printed dictionary, an old-school textbook, and limited dial-up internet access, I managed to make progress. So, when I returned home from the festival with two anime series burned onto DVDs, I faced the challenge of understanding them. Only one series had Czech subtitles, and even those were incomplete. It was the first trial on my journey to Japanese.
To bridge the gap, I focused on improving my English by translating subtitles. Watching a single 20-minute episode could take over an hour as I paused and rewound repeatedly. Without headphones, the constant repetition of characters’ voices drove my grandmother to exasperation. My enthusiasm was met with scorn; I was called irresponsible for watching “cartoons” at sixteen. Though I laugh about it now, those memories still leave a bitter taste, reminding me of how much further I might have gone with better starting opportunities. But such is fate, isn’t it?
In my final year of high school, while preparing for exams, I took my first steps in learning Japanese. I discovered that its syllabic structure made it easier for me to hear and understand than other languages. However, resources were scarce and expensive in the Czech Republic. Unsure about using English-language materials due to my still-developing fluency, I pressed on with minimal tools. By the time I graduated, I had taught myself hiragana, katakana, and basic phrases.
The Great Recession left me, a fresh graduate, with no job prospects. My high school diploma felt worthless, and society saw me as unwanted, redundant, and of no earthly use element. I suppose the so-called Lost Generation of Japan must have felt similarly broken. Desperate, I sold everything I could, including my laptop and camera, and used the small inheritance from my mother to travel to Japan. I had nothing to lose.
I enrolled in a Japanese language institute in Aichi Prefecture. For the first time, I experienced what it meant to have guidance and support. Surrounded by students who had studied Japanese for months under tutors before arriving, I felt out of place. Yet, I poured every ounce of effort into my studies, refusing to compete with others but determined to do my best. Three months after my arrival, my teacher informed me that I was being transferred to a different class. I was shocked and almost started crying in despair, for I thought that I had somehow failed and that all my hard work had come to nought once again. I managed only to ask her, 「どうして？」 (“Why?”). With a gentle smile, she replied, 「レベルアップ！」 (“Level up!”).
I just stood there and stared at her in disbelieve. I had unknowingly surpassed my peers, reaching a level that typically took a year of study in just three months. It was the first time a teacher recognized my talent. Japan—often seen as rigid and demanding—offered me something my family and home country never had: validation. Proud but not complacent, I continued studying with unwavering dedication, learning kanji on my own and kept smiling even in moments of exhaustion.
The soothing sound of the wind chimes played in me, and I was grateful for every new day—waking up early to welcome the sunrise and dancing in the rain. I felt so free and alive in the country that many of my countrymen saw as the personification of craziness and slavery because of the pressure to conform to work and social etiquette. For me, it was a true home, a place that rekindled a flame in my heart and rewarded me for showing my brave spirit.
For three years, I studied and volunteered, supported by kind souls at the institute. Yet fate tested me once more. My grandmother’s passing forced me to return to the Czech Republic, where I was met with betrayal and homelessness. Unable to secure the documentation needed to return to Japan, I was stuck in an even deeper mire than before.
It took me seven years, during which I had to overcome many obstacles and almost lost my life a few times, before I met my wife and we were able to move together to Costa Rica in 2020. Meanwhile, I kept studying Japanese and saving money for language courses, only to find they were of no use every time.
I never presented myself to any tutor as someone who had lived in Japan before starting the course, obediently following the instructions. However, when there was no progress in the class—like people not being able to learn even hiragana or katakana after half a year—I mentioned it aloud, and the teacher hit the roof when they heard it. In such cases, I was always called a total idiot who knew nothing and was asked to leave the course. I learnt a valuable lesson from it: not to believe in such courses and to continue studying on my own in any way possible.
After moving to Costa Rica, I hardly had the opportunity to use Japanese and spent most of my time working hard with my hands in the garden or on the house we built ourselves. I also had to learn Spanish and, in the meantime, published five fantasy books in Czech, so there was no space for Japanese. However, as time passed, the situation changed. Many people backstabbed us, and we decided to put our house up for sale so that we could start anew somewhere else. The financial and health problems weighed heavily on me, making me feel that everything was lost and there was no way out with each passing day.
Then, I had a dream. A dream about a dark, empty valley with dark clouds above. It was like a video track playing on a screen in front of me, and my wife was sitting next to me. I was holding her hand and told her she needed to be patient and watch the show, because it was important. Then the film slowly turned into an anime as animated characters appeared in the valley. They were children with their animal-like friends, and I recognised it as a Digimon show I had watched when I was eighteen. What I wanted to show my wife was not the anime itself, but the music. The characteristic song from that show, Brave Heart by Miyazaki Ayumi. And as the music started playing, the sun shone through the black clouds, flooding the valley with a golden river of light.
I listened to the song as I woke up, shocked by the lyrics that I hadn’t understood when I watched Digimon before going to Japan. The song rekindled the light of hope in me, giving me faith that we could handle our situation, although it might sound ridiculous or funny. It revived a strange energy in me and a desire to start studying Japanese again. So, I began before Christmas, feeling strangely refreshed and surprised by how much I still remembered of Japanese.
I hope… No, I believe we can make it and go to Japan together, at least as tourists. In the end, before leaving Japan in 2013, I visited Meiji Jingu, a Shinto shrine in Tokyo, and made a wish to return there—not alone, but with someone with whom I could share the same love for Japan. I will carry Japan in my heart no matter where I am.
Have you ever been to Japan? Do you study or like Japanese? What do you like most about Japan? Please, share your stories and thoughts.
Yours Truly,
Nathaniel Wonderful
Author
nathanielwonderful@gmail.com