Sexless Japan Has Ruined My Youth
And it is destructing a whole Nation
I have countless stories about Japan, but this one is the story that ‘damaged’ me the most.
It was 11:00 pm on a Friday night when I came back home. Working in corporate Japan didn’t leave much space for personal time and enjoyment. I cooked a light meal, a bowl of natto and rice, and ate it as fast as I had cooked it.
My body melted into the cushy pink sofa I bought to match the pink walls of my apartment, finally enjoying my brief moment of free time. Three hundred forty square feet, less than a standard hotel room, I cherished all this space just for me. According to local standards, my apartment was “too big” and “too expensive” for one person, but I didn’t care.
I needed it to fill up the emotional void of my life with this space.
I scrolled down at my phone screen and realized it had been five months since I had spoken with someone, although my manager and office neighbors would say “hello” or “goodbye” or “do this and that” from time to time. Those were breadcrumbs of a conversation that I fed myself with for six months — I was a foreign woman in Japan, and people were scared to talk to me.
