I had three chances to get Tokyo right. Four if you count the hours between my return from Ishigaki and my flight home, wandering Haneda. But let’s say three. Each one felt different—not just because of timing, but because of why I was there.

When I arrived at our hotel in Hakone, I exhaled. Not just because we had made it—but because getting there had already been a lot. The rain had been relentless.

I’m sitting here, staring out at the sea on a small Okinawan island—closer to Taiwan than mainland Japan. It feels like a place that exists slightly outside of everything else. And I’m thinking about how I thought this part of the trip would be the easiest to write about.

Who am I becoming? I find myself asking this on the cusp of entering 2026, standing at the threshold of a new chapter. I wrote the first lines of this piece late at night, aware of time…

Life in Arequipa, Peru feels simple. In the city’s historic center—a UNESCO World Heritage Site—white colonial buildings glow against the Andean light, their iron balconies twisting…