I came to Tokyo at twenty, abandoning my English literature degree in China's study-abroad frenzy. Regrets still linger - learning Japanese from scratch delayed my academic path. After two years in language school and another two at vocational college, I finally entered a mediocre university at twenty-four. By then, my peers were already job-hunting while I crammed textbooks with classmates six years younger.
Graduation brought new humiliation. Graduate school rejections forced me into Japan's rigid employment cycle. Companies eyed my age with suspicion, their HR managers' eyebrows knitting at my resume despite my baby-faced appearance. Rejection letters piled up until winter, when a legal firm specializing in international disputes threw me a lifeline.
"Bilingual assistant needed: Japanese/English/Mandarin." The interviewer's pen tapped my trilingual background. "Our lead counsel handles growing China-related cases." I signed the offer that afternoon, though the "assistant" title smelled distinctly of glorified secretary. Tokyo's neon lights blinked indifferently as I boarded the train home, clutching the envelope containing my uncertain future.