What I Learned About Letting Go: Year Three in Japan

Day 1,028 since we landed in Japan.

It is Christmas Day, 2025.

A steady, drizzling rain has been falling all day here in Kanazawa. We are traveling in this quiet city of fewer than 500,000 people, and the holiday atmosphere feels exceptionally faint.

After putting the kids to sleep, I slipped out to a coin laundry near the hotel to wash a family’s worth of clothes. By the time I returned to the room, it was past 11:00 PM. Finally, in the silence of the late night, I sat down to replay the tape of my 2025.

If my last post was about "Work," this one is about "Life." And honestly, the life chapter this year was a roller coaster.

If 2025 was a year of transition for my career, for my personal life, it was the year of The Awakening.

Walking Away from the Algorithm

On March 3, 2023, my family landed in Japan. That same day, I started documenting our journey on social media - RedNote. I went from a complete novice—someone who had never even written a blog post—to an influencer with over 23,000 followers in just two years.

Was it worth it?

Absolutely. It helped me rebuild a social circle in a new country, connect with like-minded souls, and find direction for my next business venture.

Was it painful?

Inevitably. From the very first month, the hate mail and nasty comments trickled in. Over time, I grew numb to the attacks. Instead, I became hyper-aware of the algorithm: I knew exactly what would get views, and exactly what would get banned.

By August of this year, I posted a "temporary farewell." I wanted to hide from the rising tide of anti-Japanese sentiment online and focus on my increasing workload. I thought I’d return by year-end.

But as diplomatic relations plummeted, I realized there was no turning back.

Many friends urged me to keep going. I considered it. But my answer, in the end, is this blog. A choice to completely decouple from the platforms. This was my first major turning point of the year.

Saying Goodbye to the Life I Left Behind

I’ve been out of my home country for nearly three years now, and I have a distinct feeling: my circle of friends is shrinking.

Following the release of treated water from Fukushima and various geopolitical conflicts, I’ve been blocked by people on WeChat. I, in turn, have deleted many who hold radical nationalistic views. It was a purge of my digital life.

Yet, the silence is heavy. I can no longer discuss politics with friends back home—even those I’ve known for over a decade.

In 2023, I often used the phrase "Rebooting Life." I thought simply changing my location, skills, and social environment was enough. But I wasn't truly ready to say goodbye to my past relationships.

It wasn't until 2025, when relations hit a historic low, that I understood what "immigration" truly costs.

"We are the type of people with high empathy. We want to speak up about social issues, suffering, and injustice, even if it doesn't concern us. But when speaking up is useless—or forbidden—it becomes painful."

I used to share "negative" news and my own Wechat Moments. My parents and my wife would beg me to delete them, fearing for my safety. I knew they loved me. But the more you are told not to speak, the more you want to.

Unless, one day, you truly stop caring.

I don't know exactly when that day was, but I post much less now. I’ve stopped reading news from the mainland. My phone only has Japanese news apps. I care more about Japan's macroeconomics, the consumer market, and visa policies.

My relatives are probably relieved that I’ve stopped "talking nonsense." But I feel no joy in it.

This silence is the toll fee for leaving the past behind.

Entering "Battle Royale" Mode

The narrative style of "Battle Royale" originated in Japan, didn't it? It feels fitting because now, we are living it.

On October 16, 2025, Japan enforced new regulations for the Business Manager Visa. Overnight, over 40,000 visa holders—including 24,000 Chinese nationals—were thrown into a survival game.

Some players quit immediately. Others are studying the rulebook, looking for loopholes. And then there are ordinary players like me, who have no choice but to adapt.

The new requirements?

30 million yen in registered capital, one full-time resident employee, and language proficiency.

Is this a high bar for a developed country?

honestly, no. But it is unreasonable.

Imagine a casino. The entry rules were simple, the threshold low. But once the floor was packed, the house unilaterally changed the rules, raising the stakes for everyone already inside. It’s a loss for both the casino and the guests. Trust is the currency of survival. Once damaged, how much does it cost to fix?

Lately, I’ve heard horror stories of renewals being rejected or slashed to four-month extensions. I’m not usually an anxious person, but even I am feeling the pressure.

Thankfully, my friends and wife keep me grounded.

"It’s all destiny."

Five years ago, we never imagined we’d be living in Japan with our kids. Five years from now, who knows where we will be? The Battle Royale has begun. If we don’t want to be eliminated, we have to run toward the safe zone—no matter how small it is.

Accepting That I'm Just Ordinary

I celebrated my 39th birthday this year. As I start the march toward 40, I am realizing that the hardest thing to let go of wasn't my social media account or my past connections—it was the illusion that I am special.

For the first half of my life, things went according to script. I believed—and sometimes still catch myself believing—that I could achieve anything simply by willing it into existence. I’m not stupid. I execute well. I have energy.

But this year, I finally let that go.

I accepted that I am just an ordinary person. I only have 24 hours a day. I get lazy. I get emotional. My learning ability has a ceiling, and I’m not lucky enough to win the lottery.

“He who knows others is wise; he who knows himself is enlightened.”

I’ve known this quote for years, but living it requires scars. It requires letting go of the arrogance of youth.

As an ordinary person, I have stopped setting massive, impossible goals. I have let go of the need to have "this, and that, and everything else."

Doing one thing at a time, and doing it well, is enough.

Since moving to Japan, my biggest realization is this: When an ordinary person does ordinary things repeatedly and improves slightly each time, even the most mundane life begins to shine.

Life isn't about the grand narrative anymore. Life is something you live for yourself. It's about taking care of the people closest to you.

Simple. Ordinary. And that is actually good enough.

Here is the Chinese Version.