My relationship with Japanese culture began, like many, with anime flickering across a television screen in my childhood. But it was literature that truly captured my imagination and set me on the path that would eventually lead me to Tokyo. As a teenager, I stumbled upon films like Rashomon and Tokyo Story—old, black and white, with long stretches of silence that felt alien by modern standards. Yet something about those films stayed with me. I could recall specific scenes, the emotions they stirred, years after watching them.

When I entered university and chose to major in Japanese language and literature, I discovered a world of authors whose works resonated deeply despite the vast distance between Ukraine and Japan. Ryūnosuke Akutagawa’s Spinning Gears and Kappa left a strong impression on me early on. More recently, Ango Sakaguchi’s In the Forest, Under Cherries in Full Bloom and collections by Kunikida Doppo have stirred new thoughts about society and the human condition.

When I was seventeen and deciding what to study at university, I knew I wanted to pursue languages. I had always been fascinated by linguistics, but choosing which language to study meant choosing an entire culture, history, and literature that would shape my academic path. The most common options in Ukraine are French, German, or English, languages I already had some exposure to. I wanted something different, something that would give me a completely new perspective on the world. That’s why I chose Japanese.

At the Taras Shevchenko National University of Kyiv, I spent three years studying Japanese language, literature, linguistics, and translation. Most of our classes were taught by Ukrainian professors who had lived or studied in Japan, and we also had access to native Japanese speakers and online exchange meetings with Japanese universities, including AGU. But I came to realize that textbook knowledge and live experience are fundamentally different. You can study a culture for a decade, but it still won’t give you the same understanding as being there, seeing it with your own eyes.

I had heard about AGU from other Ukrainian students who had studied here before me, and when I attended online exchange meetings with AGU students, I got a glimpse of what studying here might be like. Now that I’m here, I can confirm there are opportunities, courses, and ways of thinking at AGU that I simply wouldn’t find elsewhere. The library alone has been invaluable—I’m there almost every day, and I can always find the research materials I need, including works in English that I can’t find in Ukraine.

Before coming to Japan, when I read novels set in Tokyo or Kyoto, the place names felt distant. I could look them up online, but it was difficult to visualize them. But now everything has changed. I have images in my mind of Tokyo neighborhoods and famous places I’ve visited in Japan. When an author mentions that a character spent half his life in Ginza, I can picture exactly what that means. The atmosphere, the streets, the feeling of the place.

Reading Japanese literature now feels like participating in it rather than observing from a distance. When authors describe certain experiences or emotions, I understand them on a deeper level because I am experiencing them myself. In fact, when I come across a location in a book, I add it to a list. I’m building my own reading map of Japan.

The International Commons has become one of my regular gathering places, hosting frequent events that make it easy to connect with both international and Japanese students. I’ve been pleasantly surprised by how open Japanese students are to communicating with exchange students. Having Japanese friends has enriched my experience immensely—when I travel around Tokyo or explore the city with them, I feel less like a tourist and more like I’m genuinely part of life here. I’ve also joined AGU’s official coffee circle, “Coffellow Mellow Aoyama,” which has offered a wonderful way to experience Japanese culture from a perspective beyond academics. At the International Commons “Coffee Workshop,” I supported the event as a circle member; after listening to a lecture from a coffee professional, we brewed hand-drip coffee on site and served it freshly made to the participants. These kinds of extracurricular activities have been a great opportunity to meet new people and build friendships.

Living in Japan has given me the chance to see how my own knowledge and experiences fit into a larger picture. Growing up in Ukraine, forming my own national identity, and gaining an understanding of my own country’s history and struggles has been deeply formative, and being here has not changed any of that. What it has done is open doors to perspectives that I simply couldn’t access from home.

Some particularly enlightening moments came through exploring a number of topics in my Japanese Politics Ⅱ [in English] class. Ukraine and Japan have their own unique geographical traits, cultures, and histories, and while my upbringing in Ukraine has shaped my understanding of the various political issues facing each country, learning about Japanese politics has shown me how differently the same issue can be understood depending on a country’s context. Topics such as energy and defense policies are nuanced, but being in these classrooms and talking with people whose lives have been shaped by entirely different circumstances has helped paint a fuller picture in my mind of the diversity of human experiences.

The language barrier has been its own form of learning. In Ukraine, I understood Japanese grammar well and could read complicated texts, but producing spoken Japanese was always difficult. I was terrified of speaking.

Coming to Japan has also inspired me to be a better tourist in my own country. Here, I’ve discovered I enjoy traveling alone, seeking out places that reflect Japanese culture. If I can do that here, I can do the same with Ukrainian culture. I’ve already started planning trips to explore Ukraine more thoroughly when I return.

As I reach the halfway point of my exchange and look toward my return home, I carry with me something more valuable than any single fact or skill. I’m learning to hold multiple truths at once. To understand that assumptions that work in one context may not apply in another, that human experiences connect us even as our responses differ, and that real understanding requires not just reading about a culture but living within it—making mistakes, asking questions, and remaining open to having your perspective challenged and expanded.

The locations in Japanese novels are no longer just words on a page—they’re streets I’ve walked, neighborhoods I’ve explored, atmospheres I’ve felt. The questions raised in Japanese literature about change, identity, tradition, and modernity are no longer abstract themes but lived realities I encounter daily. This is what it means when literature becomes reality, and reality, in turn, enriches literature.