Becoming a Dad at 20, Part 4: I Did Enough

Part 4: I Did Enough

December 2020. I was close to graduating from the Japanese language school, and I was proud of myself for making it that far. After getting cursed out by enough terrible customers, my Japanese had turned fluent. Living in Japan wasn't a problem anymore. On the JLPT N1, I scored a perfect mark on the listening section. Now it was time to apply to a vocational school.

Two months out from graduation, the next step was a two-year program, and after that the plan was to get a job and become a working professional. Life doesn't go the way you plan it, though. To cut to the conclusion: I failed. Once you're out in the world fending for yourself, you learn that things rarely go the way you laid them out.

International students in Japan are allowed to work 28 hours a week. Go over that and your next visa renewal is denied. You can be expelled from the vocational school, and from your current school too.
How would they even know if you went over 28 hours? Can't you just lie? You'd think so. But the ways they catch you are real, and grim. Some people get reported. Some get caught in worse ways.

Applying costs a fee of about $180. Per application. I applied to the most famous IT vocational school in Japan.
I passed the test, obviously. All that was left was the final interview. I prepared thoroughly. Expected questions, self-introduction, reasons for applying, future plans. I had all of it ready. I was confident.

On the interview day I arrived at the school. While I was sitting and waiting, a Chinese applicant asked the teacher in the room, in Japanese, "Where's the bathroom?" The teacher said, "Go outside, it's next to the door." The applicant didn't understand. "What? I don't get it."

I thought to myself: those idiots passed the test too? You can't understand one sentence about where the bathroom is, and you passed? Is this place just pay-to-enter? After 30 minutes I was called into a classroom. One teacher sat there. The interview lasted about 10 minutes, and it made everything I'd prepared completely worthless.
They didn't ask about my self-introduction, my reasons, my major, my hobbies. None of it. The conversation went like this.

Me: Thank you for taking the time today. My name is [name]. It's a pleasure to meet you.

Teacher: Do you like those clothes? You wore the same thing at the test too. It's winter. Aren't you cold? Are you wearing slippers in winter?

In my head: How the hell am I supposed to have more than one set of clothes? Did you buy them for me? And what does any of this have to do with you? I couldn't say that, so I gave some vague answer.

Teacher: How many hours a week do you work?

Me: About 20 hours a week.

Teacher: Don't lie. (laughing) Your face says otherwise.

Me: .....

I had nothing to say. My face at the time looked like a foreign laborer who'd been starving for a week, so I probably looked like I worked 100 hours a week. I brushed it off anyway.

Teacher: I know you went over 28 hours. If you want to enroll, show me one year of bank transaction records.

Me: I don't have a bank account. I get paid in cash.

Teacher: That's not true, is it? I know you're lying.

Me: Then how do you want me to prove it? And if you already know, then you prove it. How are you going to prove it? What is this interview even for?

Teacher: No bank records, no enrollment.

That was it. That's how the interview ended. I closed the door without looking back and went home.

What was that? Does someone who works as hard as I do not even get a chance? I passed the test with top marks and showed up for the interview. Why do I deserve to be treated like this? Twenty-eight hours a week doesn't even cover a month's rent in Tokyo. So people without money shouldn't study abroad at all? They get no shot, even after working themselves to death?

I was furious. I wanted to give up everything. But I'd lived two years like this. I'd built something. I'd refused to quit through all of it, for exactly this moment. I couldn't give up now. Fine. Let's find another school. A worse one, if that's what it takes. Just get in, endure it, and I'll be able to get a job. Carrying that thought, about seven days passed.

That day was like any other — three days straight without sleep, still working. When my shift finally ended and I got home, it was 1 AM Thursday. I told myself I'd sleep six hours, then start looking for another school — somewhere less prestigious, somewhere that would actually take me.

I woke up Friday morning. I had slept for 32 hours.

For 32 hours I hadn't woken up, hadn't heard a single alarm. I had basically been dead for a day and a half. When I woke up I couldn't process what had happened. Nothing like that had ever happened to me. Even the time I stayed awake for four days straight, I only slept 13 hours after.

And it hit me: if I fall asleep like that again, I might not wake up at all. I had finally hit the wall. My body, which had been running nonstop, was worn down to nothing, and it was warning me that next time it might just not turn back on.

That morning I sat there for about four minutes. Then I decided to give up everything.

I was past my limit, mentally and physically. I didn't want to make my wife a widow. And if I died, who would take care of my son? I couldn't die until he was grown. And underneath all of it I was angry about failing in spite of everything I'd done. Fuck all of it. I did enough. Who has done more than me? With money you don't have to try and it all works out. Without money you can try as hard as you want and it doesn't.

I had poured out everything, past 100 percent, with nothing held back. And I failed. I couldn't work any harder than I already had, so I decided to stop.

In December 2020, out of 30 days I worked 28. Of those, I slept four hours a night for only 13 of them. The other 15, the night shifts meant no sleep at all. A year of that, stacking up, and my body finally shut off.

There were no goals left. No hope. I quietly accepted that I'd failed and withdrew from the school in a single day. I quit all my jobs too. With no goal left, what was the point of working?

Two weeks before the flight back to Korea, I'd quit everything and I just stayed home. It felt deeply strange. Am I allowed to rest like this? One day of work is $150. That was the only thought in my head. I walked around, drank a soda, smoked, watched some dramas. The time passed, and the night before the flight, I cleaned out the apartment.

The place I'd lived for two years. Everything came up at once. So it really doesn't work out after all. Stealing toilet paper from the Roppongi station bathroom. Showering after my sauna shift because I couldn't afford shampoo. Surviving on one pack of ramen a day. Falling asleep on the last train, not waking up until the final stop, and stealing a bicycle to barely make it home. Standing over a drunk man passed out on the street, debating whether to take his wallet. It sounds insane to say, but those had become memories I treasured. I won't be able to live like that again even if I wanted to, and because I went through it and survived it, I grew.

While I was packing the carrier, here's the funny part. When I first came to Japan, the carrier was completely full. Now I had almost nothing to put in it. Two knit sweaters, one pair of jeans, one padded jacket, one laptop, three socks. That was everything. I'd been earning $2,500 a month, so what had I actually done with it? Threw it into the void. I had neglected myself completely.

February 14, 2021. I landed in Korea.

Because of COVID, I quarantined in my room for 14 days. For two weeks, the past two years played through my head on a loop, every single day.

And every day, I was grateful that I got to eat three warm meals.