A house in Japan



By the time R and I had to make a choice between applying for a pricey Australian spouse visa or relocating back to Japan, I already had misgivings about the latter. Still, I was 24, and I’d moved from Australia to Japan and back again with relative¬†ease. I figured our decision to live in Japan, should we find that it had been the wrong one, was reversible.

It wasn’t. Oh, It was always theoretically possible, but not in practice. The older we got, the harder it seemed to pick up our whole lives and dump them in the other of our countries.

And now here we are, buying a house with a corresponding mortgage attached, and hopefully formally adopting our pair of monkey cats. It’s an understatement to say that a move back to Australia just slipped a bit further out of reach. I have, as I dramatically, half-jokingly declare, condemned myself to Japan.

The house itself is about as traditional and ornate as you could imagine and beyond my weirdest dreams. I didn’t imagine this would be my life even two months ago, so how could I have imagined it five, ten, fifteen years ago?But this is my life. I chose it and yet I didn’t, and it no longer really feels reversible. I can only hope the good continues to outweigh the bad.

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