The memory of travel is a strange thing—sometimes, it becomes clearer with time. When I was traveling through Japan, everything felt quiet, slow, and kind. But the true meaning of that kindness didn’t fully reveal itself until after the journey ended. In small, unexpected moments, I realized that those quiet memories had become a kind of support—something I carried with me through life.

Like the morning I climbed the steps of a shrine, taking deep breaths. The taste of the mandarin I bought from a greengrocer in a shopping street. The gentle light of a convenience store at night. Nothing dramatic happened, yet those moments stayed deeply rooted in my heart. I’ve traveled to many countries, but Japan is the only place that doesn’t just feel like a memory—it feels like a place I return to.

Next time I visit, I don’t think I’ll say, “I’ve come again.” I think I’ll want to say, “I’m home.” Japan is not just a destination—it’s a place I return to as a part of myself. Places like that are rare in life.

In Japan, each visit reflects the “now” version of me. A café I once stopped at, a path I once walked, a ryokan I once stayed in—they all appear the same, but feel different, because I’ve changed. The journey doesn’t transform the scenery. Instead, the scenery reflects the shifts within me. That’s the depth of traveling in Japan.

And the beauty of this country is something that’s hard to explain to others. Yes, the cherry blossoms were in bloom. Yes, the autumn leaves were beautiful. Yes, the food was delicious. But that’s not all. The true essence of a journey in Japan lives in the spaces in between—the quiet margins of each experience. And it is within those margins that we place our thoughts, our feelings, our reflections. That gentle, quiet space stays with you long after you return home.

The days I spent in Japan felt as if I were having a quiet conversation with my future self. There was something in the atmosphere that gently told me, “You don’t have to name those feelings just yet.” Thoughts without words, emotions I hadn’t sorted through—Japan offered the space to simply hold them. That’s why I want to return—not just to visit, but to realign myself once again.

Japan isn’t just a destination I want to repeat. It’s a place where I reconnect with myself through travel. Each visit brings new discoveries. And with each return, there’s a quiet reassurance—a feeling that says, “You’re okay just as you are.”

Japan is also a place to meet the version of yourself you haven’t become yet. I don’t know what emotions or landscapes await me on my next visit. But I know they’ll be there, ready to receive me as I am. That simple knowing—that certainty—is what gives me the courage to keep traveling.

Perhaps travel isn’t about reaching places on a map. Maybe it’s about having somewhere to return to within yourself. For me, Japan became that place. I go, I return, I remember—and then I go again. This quiet cycle, I believe, will repeat throughout my life.

There are many places I want to visit again. But places I believe I can return to—where I feel truly welcome—are few. Japan is one of those rare places. And I trust it always will be. With that feeling—not of a journey ending, but of always being in the middle of one—Japan continues to live within me.