Flying to another country was never on my bucket list, at least not when I was 19.
Thursday, the 11th of June, was the day I landed at Haneda International Airport. It was a long journey from Surabaya, with a transit at Soekarno-Hatta International Airport. We arrived in Jakarta at around 9 p.m. on the 10th of June and departed for Haneda just after midnight. The flight lasted about eight hours, but since it was already late and most of us were exhausted, we spent the night sleeping above the clouds.
When I opened my eyes, it was already 7 a.m. in Tokyo. The sun was shining through the windows on the other side of the aircraft, and the sky was a brilliant crystal blue, just as I had always imagined it. I didn't dare to get too excited just yet. It was my first time traveling abroad, and I kept worrying that I had missed something important. Fortunately, after landing at Haneda, I made it through immigration and customs without any issues. From there, we headed straight to our hotel on the Keikyu Line. It was also my first time riding a train in years.
Since we could only check in to the hotel at 3 p.m., we left our luggage there and went out for a walk instead. I actually had a few places in mind, but I decided to follow the rest of the group since I wasn't familiar with the country yet. Getting lost in Japan was the last thing I wanted on my first day.
We headed to Ginza by train. Somewhere along the way, we misread the route map and got off at the wrong station, so we had to wait for the next train. When we finally arrived, everything felt different. Towering buildings stretched in every direction, with skyscrapers filling the skyline. It was a paradise for people who loved shopping. And I wasn't one of them.
Before wandering any farther, we decided to fill our stomachs first. We stopped at a halal wagyu ramen restaurant nearby, where I spent my first 3,000 yen in Japan. To be fair, it was no ordinary bowl of ramen. It was halal wagyu ramen, and considering the quality, the price was understandable. Even so, I wasn't expecting to spend that much on a single meal. The portion was enormous. I couldn't even finish it. Looking back, it was worth every yen. I just wish my wallet had been prepared for it.
After that, we split up and explored on our own. Not wanting to get lost, I stayed with a small group until I felt comfortable enough to wander. We weren't alone for long, though. Together, we headed to Don Quijote to browse for souvenirs and merchandise. I didn't buy anything just yet. I was only looking around, trying to figure out what I might come back for later.
By the time we finished, it was only around 3 p.m. We had already agreed to meet again at the station at 6 p.m. before heading to Akihabara together, leaving us with a few hours to spare. Since none of us had a better idea, we decided to visit Hamarikyu Gardens, tucked away on the edge of Ginza. Even on the way there, we were already amazed by how smoothly the city functioned. People were remarkably disciplined. Drivers would stop and give way to pedestrians even at crossings without traffic lights, something I had rarely experienced back home.
The entrance fee was only 300 yen, and it was worth every penny. Despite sitting in the heart of one of the world's busiest metropolitan areas, the gardens felt remarkably tranquil. Tokyo is far denser and more crowded than my hometown, yet somehow, stepping into Hamarikyu felt like crossing an invisible boundary. The noise of the city faded into the background, replaced by the gentle rustle of trees and the quiet rhythm of nature. It was surreal to find such a peaceful place hidden in the middle of a city that never seems to slow down.
Inside the gardens, beyond the carefully tended trees and seasonal flowers, lay a large pond inhabited by ducks and geese gliding peacefully across the water. A wooden bridge stretched across the pond, connecting one shore to the other and offering a beautiful view of the surrounding landscape. It was there that our group split up once more. This time, it was just Melody and me. Randy and Lizza decided to head back to the hotel early because Lizza wasn't feeling well, leaving the two of us to continue exploring the gardens at our own pace.
There were still plenty of places we wanted to explore within the gardens. I, for one, had hoped to see Tokyo Bay from one of the viewpoints. I imagined the view would be breathtaking. Instead, we found ourselves climbing a small hill tucked away inside the gardens. At the top sat an old brown wooden bench, weathered by time. Rather than continuing our walk, we simply sat down and looked out at the scenery. I have no idea how long we stayed there. Minutes seemed to lose their meaning as we quietly took in the peaceful surroundings, with neither of us feeling any urgency to leave.
Without realizing it, time slipped away. It was already 5 p.m., and the gardens would be closing soon. At first, we both hesitated to head straight to Akihabara since we still had an hour before meeting the others. I even suggested visiting Shiba Park, just outside Tokyo Tower. I imagined the view would be spectacular, especially with the tower rising above the trees. In the end, though, it was simply too far to walk, so we abandoned the idea and decided to make our way to Akihabara instead.
Not wanting to waste any more time, I let the others know that Melody and I would head there first and meet them later. I was a little nervous. It was our first time navigating Tokyo's railway system on our own, and the network looked far more intimidating than anything back home. Still, I put my faith in Google Maps, and somehow, after a few transfers, we made it to Akihabara without any trouble. The funny part came after we arrived. As we stepped off the train, we discovered that the rest of our group had been in the very same carriage all along. Out of all the trains, stations, and carriages in Tokyo, we had unknowingly boarded the exact same one.
When we arrived, we were immediately captivated by the atmosphere. Giant digital billboards towered overhead, while colorful neon signs lit up every corner of the streets. Akihabara truly felt like a city that never slowed down. I'm not much of an anime fan, so I spent most of my time simply following the rest of the group rather than browsing the anime stores.
Before long, we split up once again. This time, I ended up exploring with Melody, Rafi, and Zikri. We wandered through the streets at a leisurely pace, stopped occasionally to take photos, and searched for something to eat along the way.
Without realizing it, the clock had already struck 8 p.m. The problem wasn't the time itself, but the fact that our legs had finally given up after a full day of walking. We let the others know that we were heading back to the hotel, only to discover that they were already waiting inside the station. After taking the train, we got off at Tenkubashi Station, just outside Haneda Innovation City, where our hotel was located. Somehow, just like earlier that afternoon, we had unknowingly ridden in the very same carriage as the rest of the group. And with that, we called it a night. Tomorrow, the sightseeing would give way to the real reason we had flown all the way to Japan.
There's not much to tell about the second day. We spent almost the entire day at Tokyo Interop (formerly known as ShowNet), one of the largest networking exhibitions in Japan. It showcased countless cutting-edge technologies in internet infrastructure and networking, many of which I had only ever read about and never expected to see in person. I won't go into much detail here, though. The technical side of the trip deserves its own chapter. We returned to Haneda Innovation City at around 5 p.m., where we spent some time discussing everything we had seen throughout the day. By around 6:30 p.m., we were finally free to explore again.
I hadn't planned on going anywhere that evening. I hadn't eaten since breakfast, and I wasn't feeling quite myself. Still, the others were eager to visit Shibuya, so I decided to join them. I wasn't looking for anything in particular. I simply wandered through the famous crossing, taking in the towering digital billboards, the neon lights, and the endless stream of people flowing in every direction. After a while, the dizziness I'd been trying to ignore caught up with me. I decided to head back early. I had intended to return to the hotel alone, but Tian chose to come along.
When we arrived at Tenkubashi Station, I didn't go straight back to the hotel. Instead, I walked toward the waterfront near Haneda and sat there alone for hours, watching the dark water quietly try to reach the moon.
Something unexpected happened that night, something that quietly changed the way I would remember Tokyo forever. But that is not a story I can tell here, because it does not belong to me alone.
The third day began with a simple goal, to keep everything as normal as possible. I didn't want what had happened the night before to overshadow the rest of the trip. So I did my best to carry on as if nothing had changed. At the venue, I played my part. I laughed, joined the conversations, and perhaps looked even more cheerful than usual. We left the venue at around 7 p.m. Even at that hour, the summer sun still lingered over Tokyo. Back in my hometown, the sky would have already been pitch black.
Once again, our group split up. This time, I had planned to spend the evening on my own and visit a place I genuinely wanted to see. I casually mentioned that I was heading to Tokyo Tower. To my surprise, everyone else decided to come along.
Before making our way there, we stopped by a FamilyMart to grab something to eat. I picked up two onigiri, which turned out to be more than enough for the evening. Even from several streets away, Tokyo Tower was already visible, glowing against the fading evening sky. Just as I had imagined, the view was breathtaking. I knew it was, in the end, just a giant steel structure, but it was unlike anything I had ever seen in person.
Nearby stood an old temple, though by the time we arrived, darkness had already settled in, leaving little for us to appreciate beyond its silhouette.
Afterward, our plans changed unexpectedly. Someone suggested visiting the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building Observatory in Shinjuku before it closed at 10 p.m. It hadn't been part of the itinerary, so we hurried back to the station and caught the next train. Fortunately, we arrived just in time. The queue was fairly long, but for once, it felt as though the night itself was in no hurry.
From the 45th floor, Tokyo stretched endlessly in every direction. It was a view unlike anything I had ever witnessed. But you don't really see stars here. The city has already claimed the night with countless lights of its own.
By the time we headed back, exhaustion had caught up with all of us. We nearly missed our station. In the scramble to get off the train before the doors closed, I misjudged my step and slipped into the gap between the carriage and the platform. Thankfully, I was completely fine.
Just like the night before, I found myself returning to the waterfront overlooking Tokyo Bay. This time, however, I wasn't alone. Zikri and Rafi came along, and the three of us spent hours talking about nothing in particular, letting the conversation drift wherever it pleased. Before we realized it, midnight had quietly come and gone.
Eventually, they decided to head back to the hotel, leaving me alone once again. I stayed behind a little longer, sitting by the water and watching the moon hang above the bay until I finally decided it was time to call it a night.
The fourth day brought me back to Shibuya. I can't quite remember everyone who came along, but I spent most of the evening with Zikri, Rafi, and Tian. While they headed for the Pokémon Center, I made my way to the Mega Don Quijote in search of souvenirs to bring home.
The store was enormous, spanning seven floors, and I completely lost track of time. Everywhere I looked, something else caught my attention: cute keychains, watches I'd been eyeing for months, stationery, snacks, and countless little things I knew I wouldn't easily find back home. Before I realized it, I had spent more than 5,000 yen. Looking back, I don't regret a single purchase.
As I stepped outside the store, we unexpectedly ran into Melody and Syifani. It turned out they had been in the same building all along.
That evening, something changed. Looking back, I think that was the moment I realized there was nothing left to mend. Whatever I had believed could still be saved had already slipped away. I won't tell that story here. Again, not because it isn't important, but because it isn't mine alone to tell.
I returned to the waterfront by myself once again. I called a friend back home, hoping that familiar voices might help me make sense of everything. After the call ended, I wandered alone through the quiet streets of Haneda Innovation City, sitting under an old pine tree, trying to understand what had just happened, long after the rest of Tokyo had settled into the night.
The fifth day was different. A few friends asked if I wanted to go with them, but this time I was certain. I wanted to spend the day on my own. My destination was Minato, where I planned to visit Loft before making my way to Kokyo Gaien, the gardens surrounding the Imperial Palace.
I probably don't need to explain why Loft was one of the places I wanted to visit the most. I have a soft spot for stationery. After years of keeping it on my wishlist, I finally bought my favorite fountain pen, the Pilot Kakuno. Naturally, I also picked up two dozen ink cartridges, which was probably far more than I actually needed. Altogether, it cost around 2,000 yen, cartridges included. It wasn't exactly cheap, but to me, it was worth every yen. I also bought a few notebooks, some writing paper, and a stack of envelopes. I suppose I simply enjoy writing, whether it's for myself or for someone else.
For the first time, I also got to see the famous Moleskine notebooks in person. They had always intrigued me, but they had never really been on my shopping list. As beautiful as they were, I couldn't quite justify the price.
I didn't want to stay at Loft for too long. I still hoped to visit the gardens before catching the last train back from Tokyo Station. By the time I left the store, it was already 9 p.m., so I began walking toward the nearest station.
I got off at Tokyo Station, a place so massive that I nearly lost myself before even leaving the station. The underground passageways connecting the different exits fascinated me. They felt less like ordinary tunnels and more like an underground museum, with wide walkways, clean architecture, and figures lining the corridors. I found myself enjoying the walk almost as much as the destination itself, though the air grew noticeably warm, probably because of the limited ventilation.
After that, I started to walk towards Kokyo Gaien. Halfway there, however, I changed my mind. Somehow, I had already found a place that felt comforting enough. It was Gyoko-dori Avenue.
There was nothing particularly grand or extravagant about it, yet it carried a quiet sense of peace that I couldn't quite explain. The lights were soft, the streets were almost empty, and even the summer breeze seemed reluctant to disturb the silence. Sitting on one of the benches, I could see the Imperial Palace grounds stretching out before me. At the opposite end of the avenue stood the magnificent Marunouchi building of Tokyo Station, its century-old red-brick facade glowing gently against the night.
For a while, I simply sat there, doing nothing at all. I let my thoughts wander, still trying to make sense of everything that had happened over the past few days, while quietly convincing myself that tomorrow would be a better day.
Before I realized it, the clock had already struck 11. Reluctantly, I stood up and made my way back toward Tokyo Station. True to its reputation, the station felt like a maze. I nearly got lost trying to find the correct platform, and the signs somehow seemed less intuitive than those at the other stations I had visited throughout the trip. Fortunately, after a few wrong turns and a bit of patience, I finally found my platform and caught the train back to the hotel.
By the time I arrived, it was already past midnight. The day had drained every bit of energy I had left. I climbed into bed, closed my eyes almost immediately, and let sleep take over.
The sixth day was no different from the fifth. I spent the day exploring on my own. This time, I decided to visit Kamata. My plan was simple, find another Don Quijote to buy more souvenirs. Apparently, what I had already bought wasn't enough, and I still had plenty of yen left in my wallet.
My first stop was the Don Quijote near Keikyu-Kamata Station. It was conveniently located just outside the station, but the store was smaller than I had expected, and I couldn't find what I was looking for. As I was leaving, an earthquake struck.
What amazed me most wasn't the earthquake itself, but how quickly everyone was notified. The Earthquake Early Warning alert appeared almost instantly on countless phones, including mine. It was a reminder of how prepared Japan is for something that has become part of everyday life, and something I had never experienced back home.
Afterward, I walked to another Don Quijote elsewhere in Kamata. I hadn't realized it would take nearly thirty minutes on foot, but the walk turned out to be worthwhile. The store was much larger, and I finally found everything I wanted, keychains, bookmarks, and a few snacks to bring home.
Kamata itself was charming. Unlike Minato, Ginza, Akihabara, Shinjuku, or Shibuya, it wasn't crowded with tourists or towering shopping districts. Instead, it felt like a glimpse of everyday life in Japan. At one point, I stood alone on a quiet bridge, watching the still water below. There was nothing remarkable about the moment, yet it remains one of the memories I treasure most.
The long walk eventually caught up with me. Tired and distracted, I boarded the wrong train and ended up traveling in the opposite direction. Fortunately, I noticed my mistake after the first stop and got off before I had gone too far. By the time I returned to Tenkubashi, I was completely exhausted. I went straight to bed, ready for the next day in Japan.
There wasn't much left to do on the seventh day. It was my last full day in Japan, and we were scheduled to fly home the following morning. That evening, we had a farewell dinner, which left us with only a little free time afterward. I didn't mind, though. The dinner was wonderful. After taking a few final photos with friends and peers, I returned to the hotel.
Some of them invited me to go out one last time, but I was already exhausted, and there wasn't much time left anyway. Instead, I wandered around Haneda Innovation City on my own. I first sat on the rooftop, but it was already crowded, and rain had begun to fall by the time I arrived. So I found a quieter corner of the complex and sat beneath an old pine tree.
There, I took out my notebook and my favorite fountain pen and began writing a letter. Even then, I don't know whether that letter was meant to be sent or simply written. I stayed there for a long time, quietly lost in thought, listening to the rain and spending my final night in Japan alone. By then, I had realized something. Japan was every bit as beautiful as I had hoped it would be, and I knew I would return someday.
Just after midnight, a friend asked if I wanted to join the rest of the group one last time before we left Japan. I wanted to say yes. Instead, I stayed in my room. For my final night in Japan, I chose sleep over one last memory.
I spent the final morning as usual. Our flight was scheduled for 11 a.m., and we had to be at the airport by 9. I took a shower, had breakfast, and waited for everyone else in the hotel lobby. Before long, we boarded the Keikyu Line one last time, heading for Haneda Airport Terminal 3. After passing through security and immigration, I finally found a seat in front of our departure gate. I sat there quietly, staring at the words Tokyo International Airport. Without saying a word, I thanked the city and said goodbye in my own heart. And just like that, my story in Tokyo came to an end.
I arrived home around midnight, exhausted. As I lay in bed, I found myself wishing that some things had only been a dream, and that I would wake up the next morning to find everything just as it had been before.
Morning came. It wasn't a dream. Life simply went on, as it always does. Looking back now, I don't remember Tokyo only for its skyscrapers, its trains, or the places I visited. I remember it for everything it quietly taught me about growing up, about letting go, and about carrying memories that don't always become lighter with time.
I still want to return someday. Not to relive that week. Just to make new memories of my own.