ALONE
This piece is an old journal entry from last Thanksgiving, shortly after our family moved to Tokyo. Loneliness is pervasive in Japan for a number of reasons - reasons not unpacked in this piece. Being newly moved here offered a window of felt experience of loneliness that is common for many. It gave me space for reflection and helped me frame my own relational goals in this city. The piece is not a reflection on personal plight, but on shared emotional worlds that we inhabit as humans living in this city, yet to be pervaded by gospel light.
Here it is. It has come. That which I feared. I feel a crushing weight in my heart. Pressing in from all sides. I feel in my mind, that I may not survive. I close my eyes. I feel my chest heave, sink, rise. I notice the silence. The quiet that wraps around me. Like a cool silk blanket on a cold autumn night. A luxurious, unwelcome gift. I hear a distant, muffled voice – the thoughts I have been putting off, awakening.
Far off in windows, lit with warm lights, I imagine quiet laughter around a table. The autumn wind is crisp. It gently blows against my face, just steadily enough to catch my attention. Can it be true that I am alone on this Thanksgiving day? Don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t feel pity. Simply listen to what I have to say. I reach for my phone. There’s no one, it seems, to call. I wonder to myself about the others whom this city holds. My heart sinks slightly. It’s hard to make space for this feeling. And yet it feels like it’s been here all along. Just comfortably subdued by mirth and the warmth of a welcome, an invitation, a belonging – even if only temporary. Yet now, it rises. A mild wave of dread washes over me. But I meet myself with understanding that this city is a big place. A loudly quiet space. Where anyone can be forgotten. Where you might never know who is struggling. Who has room at their table and who doesn’t. Who would rather not go through the trouble. Or who simply is lying in bed, with a heavy heart, feeling the pain of loneliness and aloneness just like you.
I slowly begin to delineate accusation from honest observation. I allow the impressions of this place to settle within me. These feelings carry the quality of shrinking you. You have to choose to expand. To soften. Let them wash over you. Sink in. And then decide what you will choose. Will you choose to remain here, wondering, waiting? Or will you become the one who sees the lonely? The alone. Years of friendship have taught me what it’s like to be welcomed. Maybe that’s why this stings right now. But still I am filled with gratitude and resolve – to be the welcomer. The ones who reach for people and knit them in.
We move into our house at the end of this week. I’m a little scared at what holidays will look like this year. Will Christmas be the same? My heart is sad to the point of sorrow and subtle shame looms nearby. But I choose to remember that we are never alone in Christ. I choose to remember the deposit that God has entrusted to us, his freed children. I remember my true inheritance. My identity. I remember those people who saw me for years and welcomed me. And as my heart softens in gratitude, I know who I shall choose to be.
Written by Isabella Tustanovska
Nov 2025, Higashikurume, Tokyo, Japan
