Refactor: A Self-Restructure on a Trip to Japan

Refactoring is a term from software development. Put simply, it means restructuring a program's internal code without changing what it does, making the code clearer, more organized, and easier to maintain.

I think something similar can happen to people. Life may look pretty much the same from the outside, but the way we see the world and make sense of it can quietly change through certain experiences.

This trip to Japan turned out to be one such refactor for me.

I. Before Departure: The Unknown

Traveling in my thirties feels different from traveling in my twenties. I don't have the same energy I used to, and I'm not as eager to explore unfamiliar cities as before. Even another street lined with the same kinds of food stalls can leave me feeling tired.

One day, a close friend suggested I travel abroad.

I initially considered Southeast Asia. For one thing, some destinations are easier to visit with a Chinese passport, and some offer visa-free entry under certain conditions. For another, being able to speak Chinese in some places might make the language barrier feel less daunting.

Then another friend suggested Japan. It's not far away, yet it feels different enough from everyday life to offer a new experience. Compared with destinations that require less preparation, Japan meant gathering documents, applying for a visa, and sorting out more details before leaving.

In the end, I decided to give it a try.

Putting together my visa application made me realize that the stable job and income I'd always taken for granted could also serve as important supporting evidence when applying for a visa. My application was approved.

It was my first trip abroad. Before leaving, I was asked a few extra questions at border control. I answered honestly and was allowed to proceed without any problems. After arriving in Japan, immigration was also simpler than I'd expected.

It turned out not to be as complicated as I'd imagined.

But even before leaving, my mind was already racing ahead. Some of what I'd read online about Japan made me curious; other things left me worried about being treated coldly or differently. I had no idea whom I'd meet, yet I was already imagining all the things that might happen.

I thought I was just preparing for the unknown.

Only after stepping into those unfamiliar situations did I begin to realize that preparing for risks and assuming how things will turn out are two different things.

II. Expectations vs. Reality

1. The Wallet I Left Behind

While eating near Sensō-ji Temple in Tokyo, I realized I'd forgotten my wallet.

To reduce the risk of card fraud, I'd left my physical bank card behind and relied on Apple Pay instead. There was a little cash in my wallet, but the restaurant's payment terminal didn't support Apple Pay. It accepted only cash or physical bank cards, and I couldn't use WeChat Pay or Alipay either.

I'd finished my meal, but paying for it had become a problem.

Using a translation app, I explained to the middle-aged owner that I had no cash. I asked if I could go back to my hotel in Ningyocho, get some money, and return to pay.

I was pretty nervous. I worried that he might think I was trying to leave without paying, and that the language barrier would make things even harder to explain. It was just a forgotten wallet, yet I'd already imagined an argument unfolding in my head.

He looked up at me and nodded.

The argument I'd anticipated never happened. I went back to the hotel, got the cash, returned to the restaurant, and paid the bill in full. The total came to just under two thousand yen.

Looking back, I realize that what frightened me wasn't just the inability to pay. It was the thought that, in an unfamiliar place where no one knew me, one small mistake might make someone see me as dishonest or unwilling to follow the rules.

Before anything had even happened, I'd already imagined the suspicion someone might have toward me.

This little incident can't tell me how everyone would react in a similar situation. But it did make me realize that sometimes, what wears me down isn't just the problem in front of me, but all the possible outcomes I've imagined in advance.

2. An Unexpected Guide in Chinese

The next experience took place in Osaka.

On my first night there, I found a fairly nice-looking yakiniku restaurant in a shopping mall and ordered a set meal for two, which included the restaurant's signature eel rice dish.

Shortly after I placed my order, a server walked straight over to me. My stomach tightened. I wondered if something was wrong.

Instead, she handed me a Chinese-language guide explaining how to enjoy the eel rice. She told me to add soy sauce first, mix it in, and then pour in the broth, following the restaurant's recommended steps.

I'd already eaten eel rice in Tokyo, so I was familiar with the usual way of eating it. What surprised me was that this restaurant had its own way of serving the dish, and the server had brought me a Chinese-language guide on her own so I could enjoy it more fully.

What made me even more curious was that I'd spoken only English from the moment I entered the restaurant until I placed my order. I hadn't said a single word in Chinese. It occurred to me that she'd probably already guessed I was a Chinese tourist.

Before paying, I asked her what had made her think I was Chinese.

She explained that Japanese people dining alone rarely ordered a set meal for two. She'd also noticed my short hair, T-shirt, shorts, and the relaxed way I carried myself.

I smiled and thanked her.

Before the trip, I'd worried that my identity might affect how people treated me. I'd even imagined the coldness I might encounter. But this time, being recognized as a Chinese tourist brought none of the trouble I'd anticipated. Instead, I received a small, thoughtful gesture.

Of course, one Chinese-language guide can't prove that everyone will treat Chinese tourists kindly, nor can it answer every question about identity and prejudice. But it reminded me that reality doesn't always follow the script I've written in my head.

3. Familiar Service, an Unfamiliar Sense of Ease

In both Tokyo and Osaka, I stayed at hotels belonging to the same chain. The staff patiently guided me through the self-check-in process and carefully explained the hotel rules after seeing my Chinese passport.

It was nothing out of the ordinary, but it helped me gradually let go of some of the worries I'd brought with me. Some concerns have a real basis, but other questions can only be answered through firsthand experience.

III. What I Didn't Know

Looking back, the visa process, the language barrier, and the unfamiliar surroundings didn't become the insurmountable obstacles I'd imagined before leaving.

The trip made me realize how easily we can mistake our own experience for the whole picture when we spend too much time in familiar surroundings. We take the information we've come across, the experiences we've accumulated, and the judgments we've formed from them, and start treating them as if they tell us everything we need to know about the world.

Sometimes, we think we understand the world beyond our own lives. In reality, we're simply familiar with the version of it that others have described to us.

Once I stepped outside my familiar surroundings, I realized just how much less I knew than I'd thought. Some of the assumptions I'd held with confidence didn't necessarily hold up against real-life experience. And some of the things I'd been sure would happen never happened at all.

Of course, one trip can't prove that the world beyond our own is necessarily better, nor can it erase the limitations that exist in reality. But it gave me a chance to reconsider my own perspective, see how much remains unknown beyond my experience, and recognize how much I still have to learn.

IV. The Refactoring Continues

Back home, I still have the same job. I'm still living on my own, and the road home is still the same.

What changed wasn't the life around me, but the way I see it.

The next time I encounter something unfamiliar, I want to make fewer assumptions and give real experiences more room to speak for themselves. That doesn't mean becoming less cautious. It just means not rushing to write the ending before the story has even begun.

Traveling didn't solve all my problems. It simply reminded me that the world I know isn't the whole world.

The system is still running. The refactoring continues.