Refactor: A Trip to Japan, and Rethinking What I Thought I Knew

Refactoring is a term in software development. Simply put, it means restructuring code without changing what a program does, making it clearer, more coherent, and easier to maintain.

I think something similar can happen in our lives. The circumstances around us may remain unchanged, while our perspective and the reasoning behind our judgments shift in response to new experiences.

For me, this trip to Japan was a kind of refactoring.

01 / Preset ｜ The Script Before Departure

Travel feels different in your thirties than it did in your twenties. I have less energy than I used to, and my urge to explore unfamiliar cities has faded somewhat. These days, wandering through yet another street lined with much the same tourist snacks and shops can leave me feeling more tired than excited.

One day, a close friend suggested that I travel abroad.

My first thought was Southeast Asia. For one thing, some destinations offer relatively straightforward entry arrangements for Chinese passport holders, including visa-free entry for eligible travelers. For another, in some places, being able to speak Chinese might ease the pressure of navigating a foreign language.

Later, another friend suggested Japan. It wasn't far away, yet it offered an environment different from the one I was used to. Unlike destinations with simpler entry requirements, Japan required me to prepare documents and apply for a visa in advance. There was simply more to take care of before leaving.

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

Preparing my visa application made me realize that the stable job and income I'd always regarded as ordinary parts of daily life could also serve as important evidence of my circumstances. Eventually, my visa was approved.

This was my first trip abroad. When leaving China, I was asked a few additional questions. I answered honestly and was allowed to proceed without any trouble. After arriving in Japan, the immigration process was also simpler than I'd expected.

It all seemed less complicated than I'd imagined.

But before I even set off, I'd already spent a great deal of time thinking about what might happen. Some of the information about Japan I'd read online made me curious; some made me wary of the possibility of being treated coldly or differently. I didn't know whom I'd meet, yet I was already imagining all sorts of scenarios.

I thought I was preparing myself for the unknown.

Only after stepping into unfamiliar situations did I gradually realize that preparing for possible risks and assuming in advance how things would turn out were two very different things.

02 / Exception ｜ A Few Unexpected Encounters

[Wallet]

I ran into an unexpected problem while eating at a restaurant near Sensō-ji in Tokyo.

Before leaving China, I'd decided not to carry a physical bank card because I was concerned about card fraud. Instead, I'd linked my card to Apple Pay. For convenience, I also left my wallet in the hotel room, keeping all my cash there. I assumed paying with my phone would be enough for everyday expenses.

It wasn't until I finished my meal and tried to pay that I discovered the restaurant's payment terminal didn't accept Apple Pay. It accepted only cash or physical bank cards. WeChat Pay and Alipay weren't options either.

The meal was over, but paying for it had suddenly become a problem.

I opened a translation app and explained to the middle-aged owner that I hadn't brought my wallet. I asked if I could return to my hotel near Ningyochō to get it and then come back to pay.

I was nervous. I worried that he might suspect I was trying to leave without paying, and that the language barrier would make the situation even more difficult. It was, in essence, just a payment problem. Yet in my mind, I was already rehearsing a possible confrontation.

The owner looked up at me and nodded.

The confrontation I'd imagined never happened. I went back to the hotel, retrieved my wallet, returned to the restaurant, and paid. The meal had cost around two thousand yen.

Looking back, I realize that what frightened me wasn't simply the possibility of being unable to pay. I was also afraid of being seen as someone who didn't respect the rules, all because of an unexpected mishap in an unfamiliar place.

Before the situation had even developed that far, I'd already imagined the suspicions others might have about me.

This small incident can't tell me how everyone would react in the same situation. But it did make me realize something: sometimes, what wears us down isn't just the problem in front of us, but all the consequences we imagine before anything has actually happened.

[Guide]

Another incident took place in Osaka.

On my first evening there, I found a rather elegant-looking Japanese yakiniku restaurant in a shopping mall. I ordered a set meal for two, which included the restaurant's signature eel rice dish.

After I'd placed my order, a server walked straight toward me. I tensed up, thinking I'd somehow run into another problem.

Instead, she handed me a Chinese-language guide explaining how to enjoy the eel rice. She suggested adding soy sauce first, mixing it in, and then adding broth, following the restaurant's recommended way of eating the dish.

I'd already eaten eel rice in Tokyo, so I was familiar with the usual way of enjoying it. What surprised me was that this restaurant had its own special preparation, and the server had taken the initiative to bring me a Chinese guide so I could better appreciate it.

Something else caught my attention. From the moment I entered the restaurant until I placed my order, I'd spoken only English. I hadn't said a word in Chinese. That was when I realized she had probably recognized me as a Chinese tourist.

Before paying, I couldn't resist asking her how she'd guessed 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 relaxed manner.

I smiled and thanked her.

Before leaving home, I'd worried that my identity might affect how people treated me. I'd even imagined situations in which I might be met with indifference or hostility. Yet this time, being recognized as a Chinese tourist brought none of the trouble I'd anticipated. Instead, I received a thoughtful gesture of hospitality.

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 advance.

[Service]

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

These were ordinary acts of service, nothing particularly remarkable. Yet they gradually eased the worries I'd carried before leaving.

Some concerns do have a basis in reality. But there are other things we can only know by experiencing them for ourselves.

03 / Boundary ｜ The Limits of What I Knew

Looking back, neither the visa process, the language barrier, nor the unfamiliar surroundings turned out to be the insurmountable obstacles I'd imagined before departure.

This trip made me realize how easily we can mistake our own limited experience for a complete understanding of the world. When we spend a long time in familiar surroundings, we may start treating the information we've encountered, the experiences we've accumulated, and the judgments we've formed from them as if they were the whole picture.

Sometimes, we think we understand the outside world when, in fact, we're familiar only with the world other people have described to us.

It was only after stepping outside my usual environment that I began to see how much less I knew about the world than I'd thought. Judgments I'd once held with confidence didn't always stand up to real experience. And things I'd expected to happen didn't necessarily happen at all.

Of course, one trip can't prove that the world beyond our familiar surroundings is necessarily better. Nor can a few pleasant encounters erase the real constraints and difficulties that exist. But the experience gave me an opportunity to reconsider my assumptions, recognize how much remains unknown beyond my own experience, and acknowledge how much I still have to learn.

04 / Release ｜ Refactoring in Everyday Life

After returning home, my daily life was much the same. I still had the same job. I was still living on my own. The road home was still the same road.

What had changed wasn't my external circumstances, but the way I looked at the world.

The next time I encounter something unfamiliar, I hope to approach it with fewer untested assumptions and give real experience more room to speak for itself. That doesn't mean becoming careless. It means resisting the urge to write the ending before the story has even begun.

The journey didn't solve all my problems. It simply reminded me that the world I know is not the whole world.

The system is still running. The refactoring continues.