July 1, 2026 marked my seventh year in Japan. Relocating to the other side of the world was not my original plan, but somehow I ended up here. I came to fill in a high management role at an AI startup, and within a few years was appointed CTO, and then a member of the Board of Directors. When I arrived, the startup was around 10 people in total. When I left, the total headcount was around 100, and I had 15 direct reports (at peak) and overall responsibility for 70 employees in the engineering department. I would have never imagined managing so many people, much less in such a high position, and even less in Japan, but somehow that is my story. In this article, I’ll give you an honest recount of my experience as CTO and member of the Board of Directors in a Japanese company, especially filling both roles at the same time. Before we delve into the story itself, I want to make it explicitly clear that all opinions expressed here are my own, and in no way do they represent my previous employer(s). This is simply my personal experience, which can hopefully be useful to someone else. CTO vs. Director The transition process Role differences and conflicts Practical advice CTO vs. Director “So what’s a CTO, anyway? What does a CTO do?” This is an actual question that I asked my CEO when he decided to appoint me to the role. Of course, I had researched online, but I wanted to know what the company needed me to do. And the answer that I got was very clear. We had three executives, so the roles were split as follows: The Chief Executive Officer (CEO) is the one who sets the global direction and vision of the company: “We will be in this position in three years.” The Chief Operations Officer (COO) is the one who will do the big picture scheduling and planning, breaking down the direction into milestones and preparing the business strategy so that the company hits these milestones. The Chief Technology Officer (CTO) is the one who takes the plan from the CEO and COO, and implements the technology to ensure the milestones are hit on time. In theory, that’s a very reasonable separation of responsibilities. In practice, things worked differently, which is natural in a startup. Becoming the CTO Different people have different opinions of the CTO role, but I’ve always thought of myself as a glorified engineer with a shiny business card. I’ve always been excited to get my hands dirty in research and coding, so doing whatever needs to be done is my natural state. The title gave me the authority to make decisions, which simply meant that if something went wrong the responsibility was mine. I was happy to take on this responsibility, as it meant that my team was protected, both internally and externally. So as CTO, in practice, I felt like I was in a position not only to lead my team, but also to protect them, support them in their growth, and ensure their comfort and safety. Becoming a member of the Board of Directors A director (取締役, torishimariyaku), on the other side, has quite a different type of role. I became a director because the company was preparing for its Initial Public Offering (IPO), and one of the requirements is that the company must have a Board of Directors. I was offered one of the five seats, and I decided to take it. The decision to accept the position seemed like a natural progression of the company’s path to IPO, and a way to formalize my role in that progression. Frankly, I was not entirely aware of the potentially conflicting responsibilities of a CTO and a member of the Board of Directors, which is one of my main reasons for writing this article. The main responsibility of a director is to shareholders and investors, and their aim is to steer the company’s direction to make it profitable. Directors are also personally responsible for the public conduct of the company. As a director, I was able to establish more company rules, such as: Setting up concrete roles with titles and responsibilities Founding an Information Security Management System (ISMS) initiative Creating new departments within the company Building an Objectives and Key Results (OKR) system from the ground up I was also able to lay down the groundwork for the future IPO of the company, and set up processes that were ultimately in favor of both the company and its employees. Employee or not? One of the biggest differences is that a director is not an employee of the company, while a CTO is. The CTO is protected by labour law rules: they have fixed working hours, vacation days, and so on, as any other employee. The CTO is part of the company’s organization chart, at the top of the engineering division, and they have authority and decision-making power within the company. But a director has no fixed working time, vacation days, or protection under labour law. In fact, a director may be dismissed from their duties if stakeholders vote them out. A director need not be an executive of the company. In my case, since as a CTO I was already an executive, my contract had to be modified; the company and I decided to sign a legal agreement that made me a fiduciary for the company. To put it simply, this designation means that the company legally entrusts directors to work in its best interest, instead of being told what to do. Since it’s not possible to be an employee and fiduciary at the same time, the company and I signed a delegation agreement (委任契約, i-nin keiyaku), which replaced my employment contract. It’s quite a standard process for designated directors in Japan. The transition process No fixed work hours The biggest practical change for me when I transitioned from just being the CTO to also being a director was the fact that I had no fixed working time anymore. Initially it felt like that was a good thing, and the extra flexibility was certainly appreciated. However, this extra flexibility came with direct accountability to investors and other board members, which in turn also meant that weekends and national holidays were not sacred anymore. Of course, there was no one looking over my shoulder, prodding me to do more, but my self-imposed internal monitor was arguably harsher than any external expectation. No visa impact Another surprising practical aspect was that I did not need to change my visa to become a director. I was on a Highly-Skilled Professional (HSP) visa at the time. The company simply registered me as a director, and for the Immigration Bureau that fact did not matter at all. I later applied for Permanent Residence (which I now possess), and again, being a director had no impact at all. I applied under the points system, so my salary was the only factor tangentially related to being a director. Changes in salary On the topic of salary, the process for salary adjustment and bonus allocation is different when it comes to employees and directors. For employees, executives propose salary adjustments, bonus allocations, promotions, demotions, and other HR-related topics for their own departments, including themselves. An executive’s salary is decided in the same way as for other employees; it’s based on the company’s salary table, and usually requires no approval by the Board of Directors. Directors, however, may propose their own salary and bonus, within a total ceiling set by the shareholders. Each proposal must be accompanied by proof of their claims of performance, achieved goals, and increased ROI. The director salary proposals are always subject to voting, so the other directors may approve or refute either the salary modification and/or the bonus. Regarding taxation, my actual salary was treated in the exact same way. I paid my taxes according to my salary bracket, not based on my title. That being said, there are some tax-related differences for employees and directors. For example, directors’ salaries must be decided within the first three months of the fiscal year, and remain fixed throughout the fiscal year. Moreover, the amount and payment date of bonuses for directors must be communicated to the tax authorities in advance, and must be paid in full on the exact day; otherwise, they are not paid at all. Another point is that directors are excluded completely from unemployment insurance, which means that if a director is voted out, they can’t claim unemployment. My understanding is that the same logic extends to parental leave benefits, since they are handled through the same contributions system; however, I don’t really have any experience with this, since my son was born while I was still only a CTO. Conflict in responsibilities The transition from CTO to director for me was gradual, so the mental shift also happened gradually. Perhaps it never happened fully, in fact. Switching from being on the employee side to being on the corporate side is not something that can happen overnight, and, quite frankly, it was a source of internal turmoil. The two roles are intended to be in tension, and one person fulfilling both at the same time can be uncomfortable. I found it challenging at times to reconcile the interest of the company and the interest of employees. Fundamentally, these interests should align, but in practice there are some tough calls to be made. I’ve personally found that the only way to maintain my sanity is to stay true to my core values and humanity, accepting that this means “failing” in certain corporate aspects. Concretely, I’ve always prioritized sincere human connection over everything else, which is why my team trusted me. So when a call had to be made, I would put myself in the place of the other person: what if I was on the receiving end of this decision? Of course, different people have different reactions, but that has been a pretty solid guideline overall. In certain situations this mentality led the CTO-me to create complications for the director-me, but in the end what counted most for my mental health was knowing that I did my best in the way that mattered to me. Role differences and conflicts As the CTO of a startup, I was used to making decisions fast, with limited information, and pivoting frequently based on the latest events. As a director, though, any decision took at least a month, because it had to be presented as a resolution for voting, and that was the cadence with which we were having board meetings. Every proposal came with a clear presentation of the rationale, the impact, and the implementation plan. After discussion with the other directors and addressing their questions, we would all cast our vote on the proposal. I could go ahead with the implementation of a proposal only after it was approved. There were good and annoying points about both methods. The CTO has more freedom, but moving too fast in a vacuum can introduce confusion, while the director must act more slowly, but all decisions are discussed and voted on, so there is no (or at least less) confusion. To give a more concrete picture of the differences between the roles of CTO and director, it might be best to share examples. Deciding pay As CTO, one of my duties was to evaluate performance, decide on salary modifications, and allocate bonuses to members of my department. I wanted to reward my team for their effort, growth, and individual contributions. As a director, though, I had to ensure that this process was transparent, auditable, and fair to everyone. This meant I had to establish a formal procedure that was voted on and approved by the Board, and was then implemented gradually with some limitations. Most limitations come from the legal aspect of the director role: changes are best rolled out slowly, by introducing small pieces as we verify that the base system works. Unfortunately my full-fledged RPG-based career advancement framework disguised as OKRs was initially refused. However, I did eventually get a functioning system up and running. Tracking attendance Another example was when I implemented an internal attendance tracking system. As CTO, I was aware of the progress done on all projects, and I was happy to keep bureaucracy to a minimum and focus on getting things done. That had been the basis of our flexibility and “getting things done” attitude since I’d started with the company. As a director, however, I had to provide auditable data on our projects. What this meant was that I had to provide a monthly, and possibly even weekly or daily, breakdown of how much time every person had spent on every project, then connect that information with the revenue from the specific projects and compile a detailed report on Return on Investment (ROI). The challenge for me was finding a way to track this data without invading people’s work to the point where it became disruptive. It took some creativity, and for me the focus was to integrate this attendance management system into the tools we were already using on a daily basis. In the end, I managed to build something functional, but the main problem was, and will always be, data integrity—a story for another time. Introducing order in chaos When I joined the company, the organization was flat, but as more and more people started to join, at some point we needed specific roles, responsibilities, and designated titles, so that people knew who to refer to. As CTO, I knew the strengths and weaknesses of every single person on my team, and I was freely delegating tasks to the ones that I knew wanted to expand in certain areas and would be able to meet the expectations of the projects. I was not afraid to give people room for growth, and in fact I was frequently amazed by the leaps some of my teammates would make. As a director, on the other hand, I had to break the flat organization into a department organization chart, assign titles and roles to people, and even establish new departments within the company. The process of deciding on the titles and the responsibilities associated with each was non-trivial, especially if people were involved in multiple projects. Ultimately, this process evolved into a project management framework in which a team was formed at the beginning of the project. Members were assigned to specific roles for a given duration, and we laid out their expected involvement with measurable deliverables. All this was quite different from the ad-hoc project work I was used to in the early days. Practical advice In this final section, I’ll try to distill some advice. I don’t know what may apply to you in particular, but I hope some of these will resonate. As an employee As an employee, you should keep in mind that your CTO is also an employee, and the same rules and laws apply to them, both as a protection and as a limitation. Being an employee, the CTO is more likely to be on your side, keeping in mind that their mission is to guarantee the success of the company from the technology point of view. A director, on the other hand, is not an employee, and they have an obligation to make the company profitable. This distinction might be rather subtle, but keeping it in mind can make it clearer how much freedom and capacity each of these roles holds to advocate for you, and how much personal risk that carries for them. Another point to be mindful of is that your salary and bonus might be decided or at least approved by the CTO. Some companies have HR departments dealing with salaries, but in my experience, even if the information runs through your manager or department head, there is a high chance the CTO will review all salaries before they are presented to the other executives, or to the Board of Directors. Presenting your progress, impact, and growth in a language that the CTO understands can only be in your favor. Talk in terms of ROI when negotiating salary increases, bonuses, and promotions. It’s very helpful for you, your manager, and your CTO, and it increases your chances of reaching your target. For future CTOs and directors If you’re on track to become a CTO or a director (or both!), the most important advice I can give you is to figure out your role before you are forced to. As a CTO you protect your team, while as a director you’re accountable to shareholders. When there are conflicts of interest—and believe me, there will be—you must have a clear idea of where your priorities lie. ^Making a decision as a director and telling yourself that this is the right call as CTO, or the opposite, is not necessarily always true. Make a clear distinction of which role you are embodying with each decision, and be able to defend it in front of your team and the Board of Directors. Maintain your mental health Finding yourself in a dual position with conflicting expectations can be draining, so finding a sane way to deal with such situations is a requirement, not an option. One of the best ways I have found to do that is to be consistently true to myself. Yes, there are different rules, responsibilities, and expectations for different roles; however, the one invariant is that you are the same person at all times. In the long run, staying consistent with your core principles is much more valuable and productive than constantly shifting from one personality to another. Know what you’re signing up for If you are becoming a director, be very clear about what you are giving up. I say this not to scare you off from the position, but to encourage you to be able to protect yourself legally, financially, and professionally. Giving up employment as CTO means you give up paid time off, vacation days, parental leave eligibility, and protection by labor law. It also means no fixed working time, so in theory you could be working much less, provided that you fulfill your duty to the company. Related to that last point, set your own limits as a director, because no one else is allowed to. On the flipside of hourly flexibility is overworking yourself, because there is always more to do. Before you get trapped in the vicious cycle of “just one more thing,” set safeguards to protect yourself from burnout. Don’t be afraid to try something new If you have the chance to be a director, and you are comfortable with the responsibility, go for it! It will give you a completely fresh perspective on how a company works, and you will learn many new things that can help you protect yourself, your team, and your own company. Good luck out there. Do your best, and stay true to yourself.

“Find a hobby or join a group so you can make friends.” That’s one of the most common pieces of advice people give when you’re wondering how to meet new people, and I decided to take it. I had just moved to Fukuoka after my job hunt as a post-graduate and a friend introduced me to the local Toastmasters Club. I joined in 2020 and remained a member until 2022. Although I knew almost nothing about the organization, I saw it as an opportunity to expand my social circle. I had no idea that what began as a simple search for friendship would introduce me to such a unique community, one where people of different ages, backgrounds, and nationalities could connect beyond Japan’s usual social boundaries. What is Toastmasters, and why is it popular in Japan? How does Toastmasters work? What was Fukuoka’s Toastmaster Club like? Two years of Toastmasters What is Toastmasters, and why is it popular in Japan? Toastmasters is an international nonprofit organization that helps people develop their public speaking, communication, and leadership skills. It was founded at a YMCA in California in 1924 before gradually expanding around the world. What surprised me was Toastmasters’ history in Japan. The first clubs in Japan were established in both Tokyo and Fukuoka after World War II. Initially, membership was limited to U.S. military personnel stationed on American bases. But over time, the organization expanded beyond the military community. It originally started as a men-only organization, with women not being admitted until 1973. Living in Fukuoka, I found it fascinating that the organization’s roots were closely tied to both the city and the postwar U.S. military presence. Because I grew up on U.S. military bases across Japan, discovering this connection made me feel more comfortable joining. How does Toastmasters work? Fukuoka Toastmasters Club followed the standard Toastmasters format: we met every two weeks at the AIREF Building in Fukuoka; each meeting had a theme, and every member was assigned a specific role. Members took turns giving prepared speeches, answering questions on the spot, and evaluating one another’s presentations. The roles rotated at every meeting, giving everyone the opportunity to speak, provide feedback, and help run the club. Meeting structure 1. Opening The Toastmaster welcomes everyone, introduces the theme of the meeting, and explains the schedule. 2. Table Topics Members are asked surprise questions and given one to two minutes to respond. This helps them practice speaking confidently without preparation. 3. Prepared Speeches Usually, one to three members deliver speeches that they have prepared in advance. 4. Evaluations After the speeches, other members provide feedback. They explain what each speaker did well and what they could improve in future presentations. Meeting Roles Each member is assigned a role that helps the meeting run smoothly. The Toastmaster leads the meeting and introduces each section. The Timer keeps track of how long each person speaks. The Grammarian listens for effective language use and grammatical mistakes. The Evaluator gives feedback on a prepared speech. The Table Topics Master prepares and asks the surprise questions. The roles change at each meeting, so everyone has the chance to speak, lead, evaluate, and support other members. What was Fukuoka’s Toastmaster Club like? Although Toastmasters clubs generally follow the same meeting format, it is the members who give each club its own personality. The Fukuoka Toastmasters Club had an unusual mix of members, including retired Japanese men, local Japanese professionals, JET ALTs, international students from Kyushu University, and people affiliated with the Sasebo Naval Base. There were significant differences in age and life experience as well. The youngest member was around 22 years old, while the oldest was over 70. Everyone had joined Toastmasters for a different reason. Some retired Japanese members were looking for a new challenge, while local professionals wanted more opportunities to practice English. ALTs wanted to become part of an international community outside of work, and university students were mainly interested in improving their public-speaking and presentation skills. I joined around the time Covid started. Members could come to the meeting in person or join online through Zoom. Many of the club leaders were older and had never used Zoom before, but they still learned how to set everything up. I thought it was nice to see how much effort they made to keep the club going. Differences in age and life experience Because the members came from such different generations and backgrounds, their speech topics, interests, senses of humour, and ways of communicating varied widely. A university student in her early twenties and a retired man in his seventies naturally had very disparate ideas about what made an interesting or relatable speech. Each meeting the members talked about such a range of topics that you never really knew what the day would be like. The subjects ranged from personal memories and practical advice to finances, politics, and international events. I remember one member giving a speech about how he had spent 40 years working as a salaryman for a paper company, while another gave a presentation about his love of Japanese cuisine, specifically conveyor belt sushi. Other speeches I particularly recall were: “What Is Effective Body Language?” A talk about NISA, which the speaker argued was a political trick A presentation about the Beijing Olympics Honestly, it was not one special speech that made me keep going back. I liked the feeling of the club itself. At times, the differences between generations made it difficult for everyone to relate to one another. However, they also introduced me to lives and experiences that I would probably never have encountered within my normal social circle. The variety of stories and perspectives in the room was one of the main reasons I continued returning. Differences in English levels At first, it felt strange to have my English speeches evaluated by someone who was not a native English speaker, even though I did not believe that being a native speaker should be a requirement in an international setting like this. However, I still felt that a high level of English was important for giving clear and useful feedback. Sometimes I struggled to understand the feedback I received, and at other times I questioned whether the evaluation would actually help me improve. This made me wonder whether there was a reason for me to continue attending the club. It was also difficult to give feedback to others, because, to be quite honest, there were times when I simply could not understand what they were talking about. Eventually, the differences in English ability became a topic of discussion among the members. Speakers and evaluators began to be matched more carefully according to their levels, although this was done quietly to avoid offending anyone. I saw this as a very typical Japanese approach to preserving harmony. Evaluations also started to focus less on grammar and vocabulary and more on elements such as confidence, pacing, humour, storytelling, and audience engagement. Sometimes, we also had the chance to give speeches in Japanese, which made the experience more inclusive and allowed members to express themselves more comfortably. This helped a bit, but I still didn’t think it was best suited for what I wanted in terms of improving my own speech skills. However, I began to accept the club for what it was. Instead of expecting every meeting to improve my speaking, I used it as a place to try different types of speeches and interact with people I would not normally meet. I particularly enjoyed listening to some of the older Japanese members. Their English sometimes sounded as though it had come directly from the 1970s. Their vocabulary was formal, old-fashioned, and unexpectedly posh, which gave their speeches a distinctive charm. Breaking down the hierarchy Toastmasters felt completely different from my nine-to-five job. At the time, I worked at a private Japanese all-girls high school, where age, seniority, and professional position shaped almost every interaction. As a young, newly-employed teacher, I was very careful about how I spoke to senior teachers and I would never have openly criticized someone above me; it would have felt deeply uncomfortable. At Toastmasters, however, those relationships could be temporarily reversed. A university student might evaluate a retired professional. A non-native English speaker could tell a native speaker that they were speaking too quickly. Younger members could openly point out weaknesses in the speeches of people old enough to be their parents. The evaluator had to be confident enough to criticize someone who might normally have greater authority, while the speaker had to accept advice from someone younger, less experienced, or less fluent. The rotating roles gave members permission to do this. Once someone was assigned to be an evaluator, giving honest feedback became their responsibility. For those few minutes, the role they had been given mattered more than their age, profession, nationality, or English ability. Still, the usual hierarchies did not disappear completely. I sometimes sensed that a speaker’s reaction depended on who was giving the feedback. For example, one member who was a doctor seemed to value feedback from native speakers regardless of their age, but appeared less receptive when the evaluator was Japanese. Even in a club designed to make everyone equal, status and personal preferences could still shape whose opinions were valued. Toastmasters did not completely erase Japan’s traditional social hierarchy. Instead, it created a temporary space where people could step outside it. Compared with my workplace, where I constantly considered age and seniority before speaking, the freedom to openly evaluate one another felt unusual and sometimes uncomfortable, but it was also what made the club so interesting. Life outside the club At first, I mainly knew people through their assigned roles. Someone was the Toastmaster, an evaluator, or the person who had given a speech that evening. Through dinners, drinks, and other gatherings, we gradually began to know one another beyond those roles. One retired member in his seventies enjoyed farming and invited everyone to help dig potatoes during the harvest season. It was a simple activity, but it was also the kind of experience I would probably never have had with my usual group of friends. They also put a lot of effort into holidays. For Halloween, some members would come dressed in costumes. Every year, the club also held a Christmas party at a small local restaurant. The restaurant usually had a buffet and an all-you-can-drink plan for a reasonable price. We played games like White Elephant, and there was dancing and singing too. These events made the club feel more like a real community and not just a place to practice speeches. These gatherings did not mean that everyone suddenly became close, but they made the differences between us easier to understand. Outside the timed speeches and formal evaluations, we were able to interact more casually and see one another as people rather than simply as club members. Two years of Toastmasters There were plenty of meetings I did not enjoy. Sometimes I could barely understand the feedback I received. Other times, I understood it perfectly but did not find it useful. Not every speech was interesting, and not every evaluation made me a better speaker. Despite this, I continued attending for two years. What kept bringing me back was not the public-speaking practice. It was the strange mix of people I found myself spending time with. Outside Toastmasters, many of us would probably never have met, let alone regularly listened to one another’s stories and offered each other advice. I expected Toastmasters to be another activity on my calendar. Instead, it gave me access to a small social world that I could not have found through my job or everyday life in Japan. In the end, I may not have stayed because I loved every speech—I stayed because I became curious about the people giving them.

My honest opinion is that very few things in one’s life can be as fulfilling as living abroad. The opportunity to break away from my comfort zone, brave new horizons, and immerse myself in new cultures has probably been the greatest joy I’ve found during my time on this Earth. Japan in particular holds a deeply special place in my heart, given my long-standing love for its culture and people, both of which have been part of my life since my childhood in Brazil. Of course, that raises the question: “Well, how come you’re talking about having anxiety in Japan then?” The truth is, living abroad has brought me woes and wonders in equal measure. In Japan specifically, I found myself dealing with a worsening mental state while simultaneously experiencing a completely new environment, all with very little immediate support, given that my friends and family were, quite literally, on the other side of the world. I had to locate help on my own and deal with a medical system that was completely foreign to me, in a language I couldn’t freely communicate in. Through this article, I aim to share some of my experiences dealing with severe anxiety and navigating Japan’s medical system, in the hopes that they can, in turn, be of help to someone else. How the anxiety began Finding help (for the wrong thing) Mental health in Japan Finding help—again Bringing medicine into Japan Helping yourself Final advice Resources How the anxiety began Japan was not my first experience living abroad. Before coming here, I lived in neighbouring Taiwan for around three years. Deciding I wanted to try living somewhere else, I settled on Japan, as it seemed to have a vibrant international developer community (through TokyoDev, of course). Once the decision was made, it was time to prepare. All in all, it took me a year and a half to feel comfortable enough to make the move. However, everything did not go as smoothly as I’d hoped. There were quite a few bumps on the road, which almost made me give up on the move altogether, but in the end I decided to go through with it. Instead of finding work before the move, I chose to study the language while searching for employment. This made failure a much riskier prospect, as I was now actively investing both time and money into my stay in the country. All of this is to say that I was already under quite a bit of pressure when I arrived. Arriving in Japan with a purpose was a much different experience than when I had visited it in my travels. Here I was, in the country I had spent so long preparing for, and it was time to make it work. And I was definitely going to make it work! Looking back, this was my first mistake, since as the difficulties piled on, so did the stress. Eventually something had to give, and that thing was my stomach: unexplained nausea, digestion troubles, lack of appetite, and so on. It was quite frustrating that just a few weeks after I arrived in Japan I already found myself having to deal with health issues. Oh well, nothing to do but have it looked at, I thought to myself. Finding help (for the wrong thing) If you’re in Tokyo, you won’t have any trouble finding yourself a clinic for pretty much every specialization known to modern (and even ancient) medicine. Most of them have a listing on Google Maps, and you can usually find them just by typing the specialty in plain English. The process itself is quite simple: choose the clinic, make a reservation through their website or by phone, and show up with your insurance card (保険証, hokenshou) or My Number Card (マイナンバーカード, mainanba–ka–do). Since I was a student at the time, I was enrolled in Japan’s National Health Insurance system (国民健康保険, kokumin kenkou hoken), which meant that I only had to pay for 30% of all medical expenses. At the time, as I thought my symptoms were physical, I searched for an internal medicine clinic (内科, naika), and actually ended up finding a gastroenterologist near where I lived. However, the doctor didn’t speak English, and while some doctors in Japan do, this is by no means the norm. Finding clinics that actively cater to foreigners can be even more difficult. They certainly exist, but they also tend to have limited availability, and higher prices on average because they often don’t accept NHI. Knowing the doctor didn’t speak English meant I had some homework to do before my appointment. I researched how to describe some of my symptoms in Japanese, noted them down on my phone, and translated the rest on the go during the visit. All in all, everything went smoothly. The doctors and nurses were very kind and made sure we could fully understand each other every step of the way. After a battery of examinations, however, it was clear that there was nothing particularly wrong with my stomach, and that the problem lay elsewhere. This is where my experience started to become frustrating. Once digestive issues were ruled out, I ended up with no guidance on what to do next, and was merely given more medicine for the immediate symptoms. Feeling sick on the train? Here’s some medication for that. Dizziness? Here’s another one. When I finally connected the dots that the problem might be related to stress or anxiety, and brought it up with the doctor, I was told to “Drink some coffee every day to relax.” Mental health in Japan Historically, mental health has carried significant stigma in Japan. A 2013 study showed that “mental illness was considerably stigmatised, with schizophrenia being more stigmatised than depression” and that “the general public often lacked accurate knowledge about mental illness.” Some of the effects of this stigma can be seen in the healthcare system itself. A 2015 OECD Review pointed out that “service provision for mild-to-moderate disorders, such as depression and anxiety is poor relative to the expected burden of disease,” and that the mental health needs of vulnerable groups, including children, adolescents, and the elderly, were not being adequately met at the time. However, a more recent study from 2023 suggests that attitudes toward conditions such as depression have become more informed over time. Increased public discussion around mental health, alongside government efforts to improve awareness and access to mental healthcare, may have contributed to this shift. Finding help—again The old stigmas might, at least in part, explain the doctor’s response. Given the sensitive nature of the issue, he might have been reluctant to bring up the topic, or to address something outside his area of expertise. Whatever the reason, I once again found myself searching for help on my own. Since my mental health was a far more complex issue than my stomach pains, I decided not to compromise this time and instead looked for a professional with whom I could discuss my problems without struggling to find the right words. Even disregarding the language barrier, many of the local mental health clinics I came across during my search had surprisingly very poor reviews on places like Google Maps. The dislike seems to derive from the way the appointments are handled: people walk in, tell the doctor all their symptoms and concerns, and then get prescribed medicine without much care or thought, all in under 30 minutes. You might recognize this as a fairly common experience when seeing any doctor in Japan. While this approach might be fine when treating a rash or a cold, when it comes to people’s mental state, it leaves a lot to be desired. There are a few clinics which can properly accommodate foreigners, usually offering support in multiple languages in addition to English. With that said, I ran into two problems. First, they were often fully booked for weeks on end. Second, many of them did not accept Japan’s National Health Insurance, meaning that I would have had to pay out of pocket. Things were much the same when I looked for a therapist, as psychotherapy sessions are not covered by the NHI at all. While I did eventually find some very promising clinics by that point my symptoms threatened to overwhelm me. I was unable to ride a train, travel by car, or even sit through a 30-minute lesson without experiencing severe discomfort. My daily life had become so disrupted that even the smallest things took me a great deal of effort. Faced with this, I decided to return to my home country during the semester break in order to seek help in a more familiar environment. Bringing medicine into Japan I initially planned a short, two-week stay, but once I saw the doctor it became clear that that wouldn’t be the case. I was immediately diagnosed with anxiety disorder and agoraphobia, and started on medication. While I was relieved to finally have a proper diagnosis, I knew that the road to recovery would be a long one. It took almost two months for me to be healthy enough to face the 30-hour journey alone back to Japan. The medication also introduced a new challenge: once I left Brazil, I would have to find a way to obtain it in Japan. The first point I needed to confirm was if I would be able to fill my prescription while in the country. Since I was prescribed escitalopram, an SSRI (Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor) that is very commonly used as a treatment for depression and anxiety, I learned it was readily available at most pharmacies as long as I had the prescription on hand. This isn’t the case for all medicines, however. Some, like Bupropion, are not sold within the country, and need to be replaced by viable alternatives. Another option would be to bring them into the country by presenting an Import Confirmation Certificate (輸入確認書, yunyuu kakuninsho) upon arrival, but not every medication can be brought this way, and there are also strict limits on the amount imported per person. Many of the same restrictions apply if you plan on importing them after arrival. Depending on the medication, receiving additional supplies from a family member abroad may be difficult or even impossible. Even if your medication is sold here, you will still need to see a doctor in order to get a Japanese prescription. Most doctors will readily help you continue your treatment as long as you present proof of your diagnosis, such as previous prescriptions or a letter from your doctor, which can all be in English. They may also evaluate you before continuing treatment, at their discretion. With your prescription in hand, you can head to any pharmacy to obtain your medicine. Helping yourself Being given what was essentially a second chance to enjoy my life in Japan, I decided I would do things differently, if only to avoid falling into the same traps of the past. For me, that meant I started going to the gym, talking to a therapist, attending meetups with like-minded people, doing hikes, and etc. These are generic things, sure, but they are surprisingly effective. By keeping both mind and body busy, you avoid ruminating about the past or worrying about the future. At the same time, the meetups and hikes provided something to look forward to, a reward of sorts for the week’s efforts. Another very helpful thing was finding ways to practice my Japanese. Interacting with people, either in real life or online, can soothe the feelings of isolation so commonly felt by expats. Dating apps like Bumble are surprisingly good tools for casual conversation, even if you’re not interested in dating. In fact, I would go one step further and say that reaching out to people was the most important thing for my recovery. In the past, I felt everyone else was having the time of their lives in Japan while I, alone, was suffering through it. When I finally reached out, the amount of support and understanding I received was both comforting and surprising, but most of all it gave me the sense of belonging I so desperately needed. You will also find that the people you interact with might help you in ways you hadn’t even considered before. When I told the staff at my language school about what had happened, they were extremely helpful in finding me a clinic at which to continue my treatment. In much the same way, I later learned from an acquaintance that the Tokyo government offers a hotline specifically for introducing clinics. This article itself is a coping strategy. Putting things into writing can be a cathartic experience, regardless of whether there will be an audience for it or not. Writing will take things out of the ephemeral and force you to structure them in a way that helps ease the usual catastrophic thinking that often accompanies anxiety. And finally, even though it’s a cliché, remember you are not alone. Looking back, one of my biggest mistakes was trying to deal with everything on my own. Moving to a new country is never easy, and even the most cheerful people can be affected by it. Reach out to friends and family. There is no shame in sharing your problems and worries with those who care about you. Final advice Fighting anxiety is a long battle, and even after you believe you’ve defeated your enemy, it can return in unexpected ways. The medicine didn’t magically solve the problem, but made it considerably easier for me to tackle it on my own. Life in Japan has become better than I ever could have hoped for, and I can truly say that I’m living it to the fullest. I’ll leave some of the resources I found along the way below, in the hopes that they can be of use. Resources ABC Japan, a Brazilian NPO that offers free consultations with a therapist in various languages. I’ve used ABC Japan’s consultation services myself. While their schedules are very busy, the doctors are very patient and will listen to your troubles very carefully. A Reddit thread detailing foreigner-friendly mental health clinics in Japan Meetup.com, for finding communities with many different interests TELL Japan, a NPO which maintains a toll-free hotline in English. While I did not use TELL’s services, they’re often brought up when speaking with foreigners about mental health, and come very highly recommended. Finally, feel free to reach out to me at [email protected] with any questions you might have regarding anything in this article. I’ll be more than happy to help.

この記事は日本語でもお読みいただけます。 Over the last six months, TokyoDev has received a handful of reports from our clients about fraudulent applications, in which candidates purport to be different people than they actually are. As a relatively niche job board that helped Japanese companies make 93 hires last year, the overwhelming majority of our applicants are real people. Nevertheless, this trend is disturbing. All these reported scammers share one particular characteristic: they claim to be Japanese citizens living abroad, or recently returned to the country. One reason for this commonality is that our clients are actively seeking to hire more bilingual Japanese citizens, who are rather rare to begin with, so our clients are far more likely to interview these candidates than if they had claimed another, non-Japanese identity. Reports to us have mentioned that they believe these scammers are North Koreans, a possibility that has been reported elsewhere. My theory is that these scammers are actually assuming a Japanese identity in order to target American and other international companies. The typical Western person won’t be able to easily differentiate whether someone comes from Japan or North Korea based upon appearance and English accent alone. Pretending to be Japanese saves them from having to use video or audio filters during interviews. If a scammer is using an automatic tool to apply for English-speaking software jobs around the world, they may just happen to apply for one of the jobs on our site. I don’t have any reason to believe that TokyoDev and our clients are specifically being targeted. The end goal of these people is not entirely clear. At best, they want to get paid money directly. At worst, they’re performing industrial espionage or looking for opportunities to inject malware into their target’s network. Regardless, even if they’re all caught, the time they waste and the distrust they sow is incredibly harmful. In this article, I’ll outline what I’ve witnessed and the measures we’ve taken so far. By compiling the signals we’ve seen, and our best techniques for catching scammers, we can hopefully stop companies who use TokyoDev (and even those who don’t) from actually hiring these candidates. Attributes of a scammer Besides claiming to be a Japanese citizen, these are other attributes common among scammers applying via TokyoDev. While these don’t guarantee that someone is a scammer, if an applicant has any of them, proceed with caution. Resident of Japan with a US phone number It is easy and cheap for anyone in the world to get a virtual US phone number, and use VoIP to answer it. This makes the numbers attractive to scammers, as they can say they’re based in the US and have a legitimate-looking phone number to prove it. I’ve frequently seen scammers say they’re currently in Japan, but list a US phone number. While I suppose it is possible for someone to be a resident who has only recently relocated to Japan and not have gotten a local phone number, the chances of this are quite slim. Non-existent Japanese phone number The Japanese government places restrictions on who can get a phone number. To get a virtual phone number, you need to be a resident of Japan. Non-residents are able to get a Japanese voice SIM, but they must physically be in Japan to receive it and present ID when doing so. While there is a black market to get around this, using it increases the cost and risk. Likely because of this, I’ve seen cases of scammers putting fake Japanese phone numbers on their resumes. If someone calls the number, the game will be up, so I guess they’re just counting on it never being called. Senior candidate with a generic portfolio website Scammers are usually trying to appear quite senior, with eight or more years of experience. Some of them will provide a link to a “portfolio” website, often hosted on a subdomain of a free hosting service, such as GitHub pages. The website usually feels very generic and just lists their skills and projects. It doesn’t have any unique content, like a blog. I’ve seen legitimate junior candidates create something like this, but good senior candidates won’t waste their time. If they have any website at all, the most they’ll do to sell themselves is post a link to their resume. Worked at famous companies, but most recent one is “anonymous” or “stealth” I’ve seen scammers who will say they previously worked for famous big tech companies, such as Amazon, Google or Meta, but list their most recent employer as “anonymous.” I suppose they’re doing this to strike a balance between creating an attractive profile, and being able to withstand basic scrutiny. However, legitimate candidates will normally list who their current employer is. I know of one scammer on TokyoDev who tried this tactic out, but later moved on to listing minor companies instead, perhaps because he realized pretending to be ex-FAANG made him too obvious. What doesn’t work to catch them Here are some techniques we’ve investigated that initially seemed promising, but won’t consistently catch scammers. IP address-based detection Some applications from candidates that claim they’re based in Japan do have non-Japanese IP addresses, but many fraudulent candidates also will have Japanese ones. Furthermore, those addresses often can’t be caught by VPN detectors; it appears that they are using residential Japanese ISPs. There are less ethical services that will provide you with a residential proxy, so it seems that these candidates have clued in and started using them. Listing your job as “partially remote” or “no remote” Even though these fraudulent candidates are based outside of Japan, I’ve still observed them applying for jobs that require candidates to come into the office. From talking to our clients, it seems like these candidates have a story about a sick relative or injury that they’ll use as an excuse for why they can’t come into the office initially. What can catch them While I can’t guarantee that these measures will continue to work, right now they seem the most promising. Ask for a Japanese phone number Virtually every resident of Japan has a Japanese phone number, so when screening candidates who claim to be in Japan, you can call the number they list or ask them to provide one if they don’t. For extra certainty, call the number while on a video call so you can confirm the person you’re interviewing is the one answering it. While not foolproof, from what we’ve observed, this is enough to stop at least some scammers. Screen in both English and Japanese Scammers sometimes pretend to be Japanese citizens to mask the fact that they speak English with an accent. This can be their undoing, though, as while they may be prepared to interview in English, it is unlikely that they can speak Japanese at a native level. By screening candidates in both languages, you may be able to identify that their language ability doesn’t match their assumed background. Clients have reported that when they switch from speaking English to Japanese, scammers often just drop out of the call. Use an identity verification service It’s quite common these days, when signing up for apps that involve financial transactions, to perform some type of identity verification, where you upload your ID and also go through a facial recognition process to ensure your ID matches. While it would be too expensive and invasive to ask all candidates to go through such a process, I think it is reasonable to have candidates do this before you onboard them, especially if you’re hiring someone to work fully remotely without ever meeting them in person. Perform onboarding in-person If a scammer outside of Japan somehow makes it through your whole interview process, they’re only going to start working with you if they can work completely remotely from day one. Even if your company works fully remotely, completing onboarding in person will most likely catch them. Travelling to Japan may be impossible for scammers, both from a financial perspective, and because they may not even be able to secure a visa to travel here. Use an ATS with built-in fraud protection I’ve observed that some Applicant Tracking Systems (ATS) are starting to offer fraud protection. I have similar qualms about this as using AI for screening, since legitimate candidates are unfairly going to be skipped over. At the same time, ATS are the only ones in a position to solve this problem at scale. When you’re processing millions of job applications per month, the patterns of scammers become a lot more obvious. If you’re already using an ATS provider, talk to them about how they can help prevent applicant fraud. Take note of how exactly they’re doing it, and make sure you also understand what sort of legitimate applications will be screened out by them. What is TokyoDev doing about scammers? As a job board, we’re in a bit of an awkward situation. On the one hand, we don’t want to be the source of scam job applications. On the other, we have a duty to uphold the privacy of our applicants, and also must follow Japanese regulatory requirements that prevent us from screening candidates. If a company reports to us that they believe a job application is from a scammer, and the candidate applied via TokyoDev’s own job application form, we mark that application as fraudulent. If we receive a similar job application in the future, we flag it for manual review, and if it seems likely the flagged job application is also a scam, we do not forward it. It’s our understanding that this is in compliance with Japan’s job board regulations. This process only catches people applying via our own job application form. As about half of our job listings direct candidates to the company’s ATS, it does nothing to prevent fraudulent applications via those systems. While we considered maintaining a list of fraudulent candidates to share with companies, we eventually dismissed this idea both because of privacy concerns, and because we think it is unlikely that companies will actually verify candidates against it. Beyond that, I think that education around this issue is what’s most likely to make an impact, which is why I’m writing this article. Conclusion I expect we’re just seeing the tip of the iceberg here, and things are going to get worse before they get better. Generative AI has been a great boon to scammers, making it easier to automate sending customized job applications as well as to pass the interviews themselves. Just like email spam was once a huge problem, and then was largely resolved, this issue will probably follow the same pattern. Right now ATS are a commodity, and there are hundreds if not thousands of options to choose from, but the prevalence of scammers could lead to a handful dominating the space. Google is able to offer some of the best spam filtering because of the huge volume of email that moves through their servers; similarly, the ATS that process the most job applications will be in the best position to detect applicant spam. I think it would be a bad thing to have a few companies serve as gatekeepers for the majority of people changing jobs, but that also is likely to be the outcome. One process that’s immune to all of this, though, is people changing jobs via in-person connections. A referral from an existing employee is almost certainly going to be a real person. This is one of the reasons TokyoDev supports our local tech community, both by holding our own events and sponsoring others. If you’re looking to hire developers, you can get involved too! You’ll be doing good as well as building up your own pipeline of candidates who are not scammers, and who already have a positive association with your brand.