Familiarity of the Present

The homestay aspect of the program has been one of the most rewarding and informative

experiences I’ve had within the Tomodachi Inouye Scholars Program—and in my life in general. Our homestay family, the Watanabe’s (Okasan and Otosan), were a fishing family who had grown up and spent their entire lives in the Miyagi Prefecture. They created such an unforgettable experience through their kindness and generosity.

At first, when we met, things felt awkward—clunky conversations mediated through the passing of phones and translator voices. Our host family spoke very little English, and none of us spoke enough Japanese to communicate effectively. This initially caused some anxiety and stress within our group and for the family, as we had no idea how we would connect. As Tomodachi Inouye Scholars, we are encouraged to create transpacific connections—a daunting task even when speaking the same language. This seemed nearly impossible without a shared language, especially coming from such different backgrounds than the Watanabe’s.

This barrier, however, was quickly broken down by the world’s greatest universal connector— food. As soon as we entered the house and put our bags down, there was a dish of pancakes, whipped cream, and maple syrup waiting for us. My first impression of their home was a mix of both familiarity and foreignness. In many ways, it reminded me of my grandparents’ home—a place well-lived in, full of warmth and optimized for the people who lived there. Yet there was a subtle feeling of unfamiliarity—not just because I had never been there before, but something deeper.

The familiarity I felt came from my experiences with my grandparents, who had immigrated to the U.S. after World War II. However, the Watanabe’s home felt more deeply connected to the essence of what made my grandparents’ home feel the way it did. I can only describe it as being fully integrated into Japanese culture. Their home was built in a traditional Japanese style with hardwood and tatami mat floors and shoji screen doors. It felt like every wall was a door that could be opened and closed without unlocking anything.

We slept on tatami mats with futons laid out each night, providing comfort and warmth during the chilly nights. We slept well that first night, full of good conversation and amazing food.

The next day—our only full day with our host family—started early with a wonderful breakfast of onigiri, croquettes, and eggs. We talked to Okasan about our plans for the day and got ready to go. We were lucky that day—it happened to be Girls’ Day, and we had been invited by a local preschool about an hour away to take part in their celebration.

When we arrived, we were greeted by the sound of children cheerfully shouting “Hello” and

“Good morning.” The principal and some of the teachers welcomed us, and we introduced

ourselves to the kids. We were then led through a garden to a neighboring home, where we

participated in a tea ceremony. It was fascinating to see how even young children were learning traditional Japanese customs, just as we were.

Afterward, we played tag and soccer with the kids before heading to the mall for lunch—ramen, of course.

After lunch, we headed to something we were all quite nervous about: the onsen—a traditional Japanese bathhouse where you first get naked, shower, and then relax in communal hot baths. To say the least, this was far outside of our comfort zone.

On the way there, we talked about how our discomfort with the concept of the onsen was mostly a product of our own cultural lens. It was strange to us because we were making it strange—yet this was completely normal in Japan. So, we decided to face our fears. There was no time to back out. As soon as we arrived at the onsen, we got our things settled in the locker room, and that was it—we were in.

At no point did I think there was a way out. I realized I couldn’t avoid this experience—I just

had to go for it. But once we overcame that initial fear and started to relax, the onsen turned out to be incredibly enjoyable. We’d had a stressful week of travel and preparation, so being present in the hot water felt like a much-needed reset.

After about an hour, we got out and changed. Our Okasan then led us to some massage chairs, where we completely dozed off, fully relaxed and recharged. On the car ride home, we talked about how the experience really wasn’t so bad after all—and how we’d even consider doing it again one day.

The concept of the onsen felt foreign to us at first, but part of embracing the experience was acknowledging that we were the foreigners. We were the ones out of place in a different culture—so who were we to judge what is “weird” without giving it a fair chance?

Dinner that night was just as amazing as the night before. We had shrimp and vegetable tempura, along with welk served in a sweet egg—or maybe it was a tofu pudding. Whatever it was, we all tried everything and enjoyed it thoroughly before heading to bed to finish the naps we had started in the car.

The Watanabe’s showed us so much warmth and kindness that a quote from a documentary we watched kept echoing in my head for the rest of my time there:

“Once you meet the people of Kesennuma, you can’t help but fall in love with them.”