As I rushed to catch the last train, a cold breeze piercing through my skin, I was overwhelmed by a flurry of emotions — an uncanny bittersweetness, just shy of loneliness — mostly, though, I’d say I was hopeful, hopeful that I was about to embark upon a new odyssey.
You see, I recently moved out of the Umegaoka Dormitory — university housing where I’ve spent the majority of the past two years, ever since I got admitted to what was then Tokyo Institute of Technology. As part of the Global Scientists and Engineers Program (GSEP) program here at Science Tokyo, I was required to spend at least the first year of my bachelor’s degree in the dorm with the rest of my batchmates, a couple senpais, as well as a few graduate students and people on exchange. Essentially, at Umegaoka, you can attain a contract for, at most, half of the duration of your education (for the record, this works differently for exchange students.). In my case, since I’m enrolled in a four-year program, I could spend a maximum of two years with my friends, after which, supposedly, we’re required to move out.
I still quite vividly remember my first day here. Carrying two ginormous suitcases, one in each hand, I made it to Fujigaoka Station (藤が丘駅) in Kanagawa prefecture after an extremely arduous journey from Haneda Airport. Luckily enough, two of my senpais generously accompanied me the entire way to the dorm. Together, we climbed one hill after another, each veritable step an incessant reminder of my innate indolence. In other words, you could say that up until this point in my life I’d been extremely — and I mean EXTREMELY — lazy. I could not for the life of me imagine getting used to these long and drawn-out walking distances. Yet, I persevered. After what seemed like a lifetime, a grueling 15 minutes of walking, we’d made it to the university dormitory.
My first impressions weren’t great, to be honest. The dorm had an iffy smell to it. The rooms were small, and the shared facilities weren’t exactly the cleanest. The kitchen, in particular, was always messy. I must give my highest regards to the kind oba-chan (cleaning lady) who always did her best to keep everything in order, despite our less-than-ideal trash segregation and blatant disregard for the sink (food waste and cooking oil were regularly drained, turning it into a sticky, greasy mess that no one seemed to care about). And don’t even get me started on the common microwave and rice cooker on the 3rd floor, which were used for everything except their intended purposes! I’ve heard that the utensils in the 2nd-floor kitchen, reserved for females, are generally much cleaner, though. But I digress. Since most of my classes were primarily held in Ookayama, I wasn’t really looking forward to the daily one-hour commute to and fro (that’s 15 minutes of walking plus another 30 minutes on the train, with one or two transfers depending on whether you’re lucky enough to be able to switch to an express train). There were no bidets on the 3rd floor, and I never really got used to the concept of utilizing mere toilet paper in the absence of something akin to a water jet. As a result, I’d been walking to the closest 7-11 to do my bidding, which was an inconvenient eight minutes away. Eventually, though, I discovered that there was one bidet on the 1st floor, which quickly became…well, overused. A few of my friends shared similar complaints, while others had endured much worse dorm experiences in high school. As for me, though, this frustration lasted only for a couple more days.
One night, just as I was about to sleep, I was met with an unabating wave of snickers and giggles. These were loud enough to the point where, out of sheer curiosity, I decided to follow them all the way to their seemingly eldritch source. To my surprise, or perhaps horror, the entirety of the 3rd floor was completely devoid of life. I soon realized that the barrel of laughs was stationed inside the common room all the way on the very 1st floor. A group of about 7-8 people, comprised of some batchmates, senpais, and one or two non-GSEP folk, were debating about a random animé tier list that they’d found online. I was baffled, not just because of how visibly absurd some of these 3 a.m. arguments were, but also because I’d learned about a totally new facet of dorm life that I’d been missing out on. It seemed like the topic of conversation kept switching every minute or so, and each individual in the room had some new minute detail or perspective to offer. Everything you could think of was briefly touched upon — life in Japan, the best food places, the most overpriced and uninviting restaurants, Japanese politics, American politics, world history, Southeast Asian conflicts (this one was a doozy), religion, philosophy, human psychology, natural theology and evolution, anatomy, the funniest (and most cringe) internet trends, memes, some of the worst or downright offensive takes known to mankind, various internet personalities, gaming culture, animé culture, LGBTQ+ rights, animal rights, past GSEP batch lore, senseis with classes to look forward to, courses to dread, linguistics — you name it.
I’ve always been a bit of an introvert, and getting to engage with such an extensive array of ideas and opinions definitely took some getting used to. And oh, am I glad I did. I gained so much insight into different cultures and the subtle nuances that shape the way people convey their paralleling as well as contrasting outlooks and viewpoints. As a result, my occasional 3 a.m. visits to the commons turned into a weekly, and soon after, a daily affair.
Let me share some of my highlights — Umegaoka trademarks that make me reminisce about my time there. For starters, we had this daily tradition of doing the New York Times Crossword. Seated together in the middle of the night, we’d utilize the lone common room TV and connect one of our laptops through HDMI to scroll through YouTube or solve puzzles. We definitely spent the most hours tackling the NYT crossword, though. Highly influenced by American culture, it was quite challenging for a diverse but mainly non-Western group of college students to solve. Through our combined efforts, it’d take anywhere from 30 minutes to about three or four hours to complete it in one sitting. The hardest puzzles would usually present themselves on a Saturday or Sunday, and we were always eager to take up the challenge. With time, however, this became an irregular and gradually less frequent hustle — an unfortunate consequence of everyone’s hectic and ever-tiring schedules.
Of course, there were also the occasional card games — UNO, poker, Cards Against Humanity, and the like. Celebrating friends’ birthdays was yet another special tradition for us. We’d all come together, pool our money, and surprise the birthday person with a cake. The best part was gathering around to cut the cake and share it with everyone — a simple yet heartfelt way to make each other feel loved and appreciated. Then there was our annual Christmas party, which we held every December. We’d invite our college friends to join us for a night of food, drinks, and karaoke at the dorm. A big part of the evening was our Secret Santa exchange. Everyone who attended would draw a name from a box, and then they were tasked with buying a gift for that person, ranging in value from 1500 to 4000 yen. The fun came from the wide variety of gifts people gave — some thoughtful, others hilariously random — and the priceless reactions they sparked. Whether it was bursts of laughter, surprise, or even a few tears, the gift exchange always made for unforgettable moments. There were people gifting board games, animé figurines, signed art pieces, and even gacha capsules.
It wasn’t all fun and games, though. Most of us here are engineering students, after all. During exam season, everyone put on their thinking caps, almost as if the entire common room air had shifted. We’d all be locked in, trying to find even a glimmer of a solution, pushing through complex problems together. I still remember that one calculus course from our first year — the lectures on blackboards, dense with symbols that never seemed to click. We’d return to our dorm and crowd into the common room, each of us with laptops open to the online notes, scrolling through endless equations that seemed to mock us. At first, there was laughter, the usual banter to mask the confusion. But as the hours stretched on, the mood changed. You’d see it in the way someone’s eyes would dart nervously between their screen and the ceiling, like they were hoping for an answer from thin air. Then came the silence — the heavy, suffocating silence, broken only by the occasional sharp cry of frustration or a loud, desperate scream from across the room. We’d all know what it meant — the pressure, the feeling of everything piling on at once. Some of us would sit quietly, staring at the screen, while others muttered, “I can’t…I can’t do this,” like saying it aloud would somehow make it stop. And in that cramped, dimly lit room, we all felt it — each of us struggling, but somehow still tethered to the others. And in those moments of complete breakdown, when it felt like everything was falling apart, we kept going. A hand on a back, a tired laugh at something pointless, a single problem solved together, and suddenly the next one didn’t feel so impossible. It wasn’t graceful, and it wasn’t easy, but we persevered, one breakdown at a time.
A series of similar experiences had fostered a sense of mutual trust and camaraderie among us. This bond created an environment where we felt comfortable leaving our laptops, PS4 controllers, and Nintendo Switch consoles in the common room for everyone to use and enjoy during moments of downtime. By the latter half of my stay, nightly Super Smash Bros. sessions on the Switch had become a staple in the common room. As an avid Nintendo fan myself, I was beyond ecstatic to see so many of my friends get into the franchise. Over the past year and a half, we’ve racked up nearly 850 hours on Smash, with about 15 different people jumping in and out of the sessions over time. Some of the most fun I’ve had during this whole experience can’t be put into words — there was just something about the energy and excitement that made those nights unforgettable.
I must point out that none of this would have been possible without the affable and generous nature of our dorm manager; let’s call him N-san. You could say he was the definition of laid-back — easygoing with a calm and approachable demeanor that made the dorm feel like a place where everyone could just relax and be themselves. At the same time, he wasn’t afraid to step in when needed — he had a quiet way of holding us accountable without ever being harsh or overbearing. From ensuring parcels reached the right hands and resolving utility issues efficiently, to guiding us through convoluted Japanese paperwork, he made sure that our stay here was as seamless as could be. N-san retired around the same time as my departure from the dorm, and I wish him nothing but the best in life.
If I were to look back, I’d say that living here has been about more than simply sharing a space — it’s been about sharing lives. Each person brought their own way of being, and through them, I’ve learned that the simplest moments often carry the most meaning — a shared smile, a laugh over something small, or just being there for each other in the quiet moments. As I move into a new sharehouse, I hope to carry these lessons with me, creating a place where conversations flow easily, where kindness is the default, and where connections blossom from the little things rather than grand gestures. This place has shown me that warmth doesn’t come from waiting for others to reach out, but from taking the first step myself. It’s a lesson I’ll hold close as I move forward, hoping to make the most of my time and the people I meet along the way. Or so I introspect.
