By Ali Syarief
By December 2026, I will have visited Japan for the 35th time. People often ask me the same question: “Why do you keep returning to Japan? Haven’t you seen everything already?” Perhaps they imagine that my repeated journeys are driven by fascination with famous landmarks or tourist attractions. They may think I repeatedly visit Asakusa Temple, admire Mount Fuji, or chase cherry blossoms from one season to another.
The truth is rather different.
I rarely visit famous tourist sites. I do not travel to Japan because of Asakusa Temple, nor because of Mount Fuji. While these places are beautiful and represent symbols of Japan, they are not the reason that continuously calls me back. The secret lies elsewhere: I return because of the people.
I go back to meet good-hearted friends.
Cross-cultural experiences often begin with visible things — architecture, food, fashion, traditions, or language. These elements are easy to observe and often become the first things people write about in books and travel guides. Yet the deeper dimension of culture is rarely found in literature. It exists in human relationships, in subtle interactions, and in moments shared between people.
Every time I meet my Japanese friends, our friendship grows warmer and deeper. What began as simple acquaintance over time transformed into something more meaningful. Through these encounters, I discovered lessons that no textbook, university lecture, or travel guide could ever teach me.
I learned that culture is not merely about customs; it is about values embodied in everyday life.
Japan taught me that sincerity can exist in silence. In many societies, including my own, warmth is often expressed through many words, physical gestures, and visible emotional expressions. But in Japan, care is often shown differently. A friend quietly waiting at the station before my arrival, someone remembering a small detail I mentioned months ago, or a simple gift carefully prepared without any expectation of return — these seemingly small acts contain profound meanings.
From a cross-cultural perspective, I realized that kindness speaks many languages. Sometimes it is spoken loudly, and sometimes it whispers.
Repeated visits also changed my understanding of travel itself. Modern tourism often becomes a process of collecting destinations, as if people are collecting trophies. Travelers rush from one famous place to another, taking pictures as proof of presence. Yet after some time, I discovered that places eventually become secondary. People become primary.
Human connection creates memories that landscapes alone cannot.
A mountain remains beautiful, a temple remains majestic, but a meaningful conversation with a friend can stay alive in memory for decades. The laughter shared during dinner, discussions about life and society, and moments of mutual understanding despite cultural differences—these become treasures that cannot be measured.
Perhaps this is why I never get bored of Japan.
I am not repeatedly visiting a country; I am repeatedly visiting relationships. I am returning not to a destination, but to a feeling of familiarity and learning. Every encounter deepens friendship and provides another lesson about humanity itself.
Until December 2026, thirty-five visits may seem like a large number. Yet for me, the number itself means little. What matters is that each journey leaves me with something more valuable than photographs or souvenirs.
I return with wisdom that I never found in literature, but discovered in the hearts of people.
And perhaps that is the most beautiful journey anyone can experience.
