Many people say that to find a software engineering job in Japan, you need to be here first. The most common ways into Japan without a job are to become a student, arrive on a Working Holiday visa, or use the J-Find visa — all of which mean spending a lot of money just to show up and still not be sure it will work out. When I was a university student in India, I knew very well that getting hired as a junior software engineer in Japan while still overseas would be difficult. It makes sense, as companies here hire on trust, and trust is hard to build at a distance. But Japan is also a country staring down a shortage of hundreds of thousands of IT workers by 2030, with foreign workers already at a record 2.6 million and still climbing. The door is harder to get through, but there’s a whole line of people worldwide standing in front of it, and the country actually needs them to come in. Now I’m a tech lead at a Japanese startup, where we help people find and buy abandoned homes (空き家, akiya), which made up a record nine million properties in the government’s 2023 survey. I’ve lived in Japan for just over a year. I know there are a lot of people out there chasing the same Japan dream, working hard for it just like I was a few years ago, so I hope they can get a few ideas from someone who has already done it. How I got hired as a junior software engineer from overseas What I’ve learned working as a software engineer in Japan How to get a junior software engineering job in Japan Conclusion How I got hired as a junior software engineer from overseas I came to Japan despite many hurdles. Let me lay out everything that happened, and everything I did, to close the gap between me and what I wanted My starting point I started a four-year computer science degree in 2020, and it was the first time I was studying something I actually cared about. My grades sat around 8.9 out of 10 each semester and it barely felt like work. That taught me something I still believe, which is that the hard part is never the studying, it is finding the things worth studying. For me, one of those things was Japan. I’d trained in karate back in India up to green belt, and that pulled me towards the culture. I soon found I also loved the food, the nature, and the level of hospitality. So I set a goal: get my first job in Japan within three years. I also knew the usual route to Japan my classmates took—the mass campus placements, with hundreds hired in one batch—wasn’t for me. I didn’t think I was above it, but I could easily see myself disappearing into the crowd. Instead, I went looking for another way in. Finding a door to Japan What I needed was a connection, a thread that could somehow link me from South Asia to Japan. I started finding LinkedIn groups that let you work as an intern at Japanese startups. These startups were usually run by big players in Japan, often international residents, who could be the CEO or founder of many smaller companies. These are the English-friendly ones I joined back in the day: Internship opportunities in Japan Internship Japan Business in Japan They’re all pretty slow now, but in 2021 they were bustling, almost crazy with activity. The first two are internship-focused ones: students post their skills and resume, and managers share openings you can apply to directly. The Business in Japan group is different, and more of an entrepreneur crowd, but I joined it because those are exactly the people who can hire you. The one that worked best for me was Internship opportunities in Japan, because that’s where I found my first connection. I strongly recommend that group to anyone wanting an internship. Whether they start paying you depends on the company, what stage they’re at, and how much trust you’ve built with them. Preparing for a Japanese internship When I joined the groups, my resume was super odd, and I couldn’t have gotten a job or an internship with it. Still, I joined and added my Japanese-style self introduction in English. After a few days, one of the group admins messaged me about whether I wanted an internship, and then asked for my resume. It was really bad, but I sent it anyway, and we came to the mutual conclusion that I could come back later with a better skillset. Later that year I started building my skillset on my own. Honestly, you have to be a few steps ahead of your university, since they won’t teach you exactly what you will end up building at a company. At that time most people I knew went the Data Structures and Algorithms (DSA) route, which means you grind a lot of DSA, crack the interview, and figure out real building later. I went a different way. I started with learning how design actually works, and it turned out to be less difficult than it was time-consuming: you have to build a real taste for what goes where and what pairs with what. You can’t slap a Roboto font on an established news site. That went into my portfolio, which I started early and have rebuilt many times. Alongside it I shipped small personal projects to make life easier for me and the people around me, because even a silly MBTI test you play with friends is a real product if you know what you’re building. I also joined online hackathons (my mailbox was always full of stickers from them). My first real shot at a job in Japan About eight months later I went back to the admin of the internship group with these new experiences, and this time I got the chance to work with a few people from Japan Travel. The CEO of Japan Travel, Terrie Lloyd, is also the founder of Daijob, one of the country’s most well-known job platforms. Lloyd’s a Kiwi entrepreneur who landed in Japan back in 1983 on a Working Holiday visa, at 24 years old, with no degree and no Japanese, and still went on to build company after company. I was getting my chance from someone whose own story was proof that an “impossible” path was possible. We were building an idea called O2O Stays, basically a marketplace for accommodation nights. Hosts could sell nights in bulk upfront at a discount, and buyers could use them, resell them, or trade them—kind of like the short-term rentals you already know, but more flexible. I took it even though it was unpaid, for a simple reason: I had never worked at a real technical firm, and this looked like no risk and high reward. You can teach yourself to build websites, but the things that actually matter—like system design, Core Web Vitals, and the real-world problems you encounter—you only learn once actual people start using what you built. That was worth more to me than getting paid right away. My task was to build an informational website. This honestly felt huge to me back then. It was also my first real deadline and I underestimated it. The timeline slipped more than I wanted, but I was lucky to be on a team with genuinely good people, so we figured it out and shipped it. At the end I got my first letter of recommendation from my Internship, and that one letter opened the door to multiple internships after it. Building while learning A lot of that early internship experience was unpaid, and I was fine with that, because when you have no track record, even the experience itself is worth a lot. But then things started to change. In my third year at university, one of the best places I worked with was MarkoKnow, a Delhi-based startup. That’s where I built my first real application and a few admin pages, and gained a lot of firsthand knowledge. By the end I felt like I could build anything (though that was probably just the adrenaline rush). Those experiences made me want to learn more, about whatever I could do with just me and my laptop. I put a lot of time into researching Web3 and even built a project out of it that got published on IEEE with one of my university classmates. I dabbled in VR, AR, and IoT too, but the one that mattered most in the long run was machine learning, which would end up helping me a lot further down the line. I also made sure to stay in touch with people I’d met during my internships. I sent them updates on what I was building, shared my portfolio and resume each time they got better, took genuine interest in the work their companies were doing and where tech could push it further, and stayed visible by commenting on posts and checking in. Turning a connection into a job at AKIYA2.0 By August 2023 I was 20 years old, my final year of university was approaching, and my main motivation was to get a job fast. The usual path would have been an internship that converts into a pre-placement offer, and landing one in my home country is a real achievement. But the thing was, I still wanted to be in Japan. I went back to the connection I’d kept warm and asked for a new opportunity. That follow-through was what kept the door open, and this time it opened onto a great one: Terrie was on the verge of co-founding another company. It had something to do with abandoned homes, and they were offering a paid part-time job. My first task was to understand the abandoned home market and build a small scraper for a single municipality, using Tesseract OCR to read through documents, since AI still had a really bad name back then. It wasn’t pretty: on that early setup, our scraping accuracy sat around 60-70%, and validation was lower still. Later we migrated the whole thing to Gemini, which pushed scraping close to 99.5% and cut our costs by around 96%. I loved the work, and almost without noticing I drifted into much more than just software engineering. Being at a startup, I was soon hiring interns and part-timers, leading projects, and building new services and tools on my own so that nobody had to manage the extra pieces I was adding. By the time they brought me on as a full-time software engineer in March 2024, the title just formalized what I was already doing. Finally, Japan I’d just graduated that spring, and I wanted to spend a year living with my family, since I’d spent most of my life in other cities at boarding school, hostels, and university. The job with AKIYA2.0 allowed international remote work, so I had the option to stay home with my family for a year, and that was something I didn’t want to skip. Then, in April 2025, I finally moved to Japan. The move itself was surprisingly simple, because my company handled most of the paperwork. I just sent over some documents and they filed for my Certificate of Eligibility (COE). It took exactly two months, and it arrived on my birthday, while I happened to be in Singapore. I had to return to India to get the visa process started. It went smoothly and I got a three-year Engineer/Specialist in Humanities/International Services visa. What I’ve learned working as a software engineer in Japan In my three years at AKIYA2.0 so far, I’ve built three websites: https://www.akiya2.com/ https://www.singchamjapan.org/ https://www.hinokistays.com/ I also built an AI scraper covering all 47 prefectures in Japan, and became genuinely good at SEO, GEO, and system design, while managing a bunch of interns and part-time engineers. And I’m still chasing more—I want to be great at all of it. ^The mindset that got me here is simple: don’t think only about survival. Think about making your presence so bright that it becomes hard to ignore you. That mindset still matters after you arrive, because moving to Japan doesn’t make everyday problems disappear. You still have to build a life here, and how difficult that feels depends a lot on who you are and what you’re used to. For a lot of people, that adjustment is the hardest part, sometimes even harder than landing the job in the first place. The daily friction adds up in ways you don’t expect. You might have dietary restrictions, feel suffocated on a rush-hour train, spend the entire weekend recovering from the working week, or simply feel lonely. For me, the adjustment wasn’t especially difficult. I had always wanted to live independently, and after years in boarding school and hostels, I was used to being away from home. What Japan unexpectedly gave me was a real sense of freedom, because I could work during the week and travel on the weekends. That has honestly been the best part of my experience, particularly the peaceful countryside, beautiful nature, and countless shrines I’ve come across along the way. If I had the chance to start again, I would get properly good at Japanese before moving. Living here without it is possible, but knowing the language opens up far more of the country: events, friendships, relationships, jobs, and the connections that might eventually lead to a startup opportunity or even a course at a Japanese university. When you’re already living in Japan, it feels like a shame to miss so much of what is happening around you. How to get a junior software engineering job in Japan Where to find junior software engineering jobs in Japan from overseas In my experience there are two kinds of people who don’t make it: the ones who never get an opportunity, and the ones who get one but give up. The ones not getting opportunities are usually just not searching in the right places, or not building a network. How do you find opportunities? You look for them online and in communities. TokyoDev lists junior developer jobs, and is one of the best examples of how much networking matters in this career, and LinkedIn is a great tool too, if you learn how to use it. There are CEOs, CTOs, and COOs from startups and big firms sitting right there on LinkedIn and X. So what’s stopping you from a cold email? Build a portfolio that gets you noticed But a tool only gets you in front of people; after that you have to impress them. As a software engineer, the only real way to impress someone is by building something for them. And to earn that chance, you first have to get good at the basics. ^About 95% of what companies build isn’t niche or original. It’s the same kind of product that already exists across many businesses, and often in open source too. Only a small slice, maybe 5%, is truly novel. Don’t run for that 5% yet, not while you’re starting out. Get genuinely good at the 95% first, because that’s what almost every real job actually involves. After all, working in Japan isn’t niche either. The competition is huge, and being a real professional is what sets you apart. Being a professional shows in the specifics. If you’re a frontend engineer, don’t tell me you know React or Vue, middle schoolers know them by now. Show me the components you built that made your own life easier, your page load times, your Core Web Vitals, and how your SEO holds up. If you’re a backend engineer, talk about the choices you’d make for a given product, the alternatives you actually know, how you cut costs, and how you fill the gap between a developer who just writes code and an engineer who takes responsibility. That attitude is exactly what I look for when I interview interns, part-timers, or engineers. Learn what software engineering skills are in demand in Japan Another tip is to study your market and see what’s booming right now. AI is the obvious hot topic, and Japan is pouring serious money into it lately. The government has committed over 10 trillion yen (around 65 billion US dollars) in public support for AI and semiconductors through 2030, and for the coming fiscal year it nearly quadrupled its chip and AI budget to about 1.23 trillion yen (7.9 billion dollars). AI startups often get founded by certain kinds of people—Japanese citizens returning from abroad, PhD holders from Todai or Waseda, and sometimes international residents as well. Sakana AI is a good example, founded by David Ha, Llion Jones, and Ren Ito. Some of these companies even have English-speaking roles. Conclusion So target thriving sectors like AI, but keep a backup plan. And seriously, start studying Japanese, because looking at the market now it matters more and more. However, I moved to Japan in April 2025 with no Japanese at all, so there’s always a way. Don’t lose hope. If you have the right mindset, can find the places where opportunities live, and are as persistent as you possibly can be, then with time you’ll look up and realize you already have everything you were chasing. Honestly, if I can do it, I’m sure anyone reading this can too, so keep trying.

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.