教員ブログProfessor's blog

A Distant Place, A Closer Heart

Ignacio Quiros

Throughout the many years I have spent in Japan, perhaps the question I have been asked most often is: “Why did you choose to live in Japan?” I usually begin my answer with a hesitant “Well…,” and somehow I end up giving a different explanation each time. Depending on my mood that day or on my relationship with the person asking, I might say, “to pursue my academic goals,” “because I love Japanese culture,” “because Japanese people are polite,” or “because the country is safe and rich in nature.” All of these answers are true to some extent. And yet, whenever I voice one of them, I hear a subtle inner voice asking, “Are you sure that’s the real reason?” There are times when we ourselves do not fully understand the fundamental motivations behind our life decisions. In that sense, the most honest answer I can now give is simple: “Because Japan is a comfortable place for me to live.”

But where exactly does that sense of comfort come from?

There are many possible factors, but the one I would like to focus on here is the feeling that my words “get across,” or more precisely, that in Japan I can have genuine conversations with people. One might assume that this is true everywhere. In my experience, however, it is not always so. To explain this concretely, I should briefly touch on my upbringing.

I love my home country of Spain and treasure many happy childhood memories. Even so, there were times when I felt I did not quite blend in with those around me. As I spent time playing and talking with family and friends, I often found myself wondering, “Why doesn’t what I’m saying get across?” Since we shared the same native language, I should have been able to communicate my thoughts fully. On the surface, it seemed strange that I could not. Yet that was how I consistently felt.

Later, I realized that in many cases it was not that my words failed to reach others, but that others were not truly listening. Especially in group settings, I was often interrupted or simply ignored midway through speaking. Because I assumed this stemmed from my own personality, I believed it was an unsolvable problem. At the time, with my worldview limited to Spain, I thought nothing would change no matter where I went.

However, when I came to Japan, I encountered a completely different style of human interaction. Even in my early days, when my Japanese was still poor, there were many moments when I distinctly felt, “This person is really trying to understand me.” As my language ability improved, I naturally began speaking more during conversations, but what struck me was that others consistently respected turn-taking and listened attentively.

For someone accustomed to being overlooked, this was both unfamiliar and deeply reassuring. Listening carefully and engaging sincerely in conversation may be ordinary for many Japanese people, but from my perspective, it is not something to be taken for granted everywhere. Having lived not only in Spain but also in France, I do not perceive a significant difference between those two countries in this respect. I am no expert in psychology, but it seems natural that one would struggle to feel a sense of belonging in a society where one’s words don’t find a receptive ear.

Conversely, despite the vast differences in culture, language, and values, my heart somehow feels closer to Japan. That closeness likely stems from the experience of conversations in which hearts genuinely connect. As a teacher, I am sometimes aware of hierarchical dynamics when speaking with students. Yet even in relationships without such hierarchy, I generally feel that real dialogue is possible here.

I emphasize the word “feel” deliberately, because when my words are understood, what remains is not merely intellectual satisfaction, but a physical sense of relief that I can feel throughout my body. Over time, that relief has become a source of quiet confidence. Before I realized it, I began to think, “Perhaps I am becoming better at expressing myself…” Indeed, since coming to Japan, I feel that not only my Japanese but also my ability to express myself in Spanish has improved. It would not be an exaggeration to say that my sense of presence has grown as well. For that, I will always feel gratitude toward this country so far from my own.

Of course, I am not suggesting that everyone should choose Japan as a place to live. What I have described is simply my personal experience as a foreigner. There may well be Japanese people or other foreigners who face considerable psychological pressure here. So, ultimately, the question is not “Which country is best?” but “Where can I live most authentically?”

In my view, the answer differs for each individual and can only emerge through real experience. Comfort, belonging, and connection are not measurable variables; they are states one must live through. What feels like home to one person may feel alien to another. For that reason, no advice, however well-intentioned, can replace direct experience. We can listen to others, gather information, and reflect carefully, but ultimately we must test the world ourselves. Only through experience can we discover where our words are heard, where our presence feels acknowledged, and where we are able to become more fully ourselves.

Paradoxically, it is often distance that teaches us where we are closest.