I'd wanted to go to Japan for as long as I can remember. And in January 2024, I finally did — not with my husband, but with my sister. Which, looking back, made it even more meaningful.
We spent our days walking through Osaka, Nara, and Kyoto — eating everything in sight, getting lost in temples, and taking more photos than either of us will ever post. It was my first time in Japan. And I wasn't prepared for how it would make me feel.
Because Japan didn't just impress me. It moved something inside me that I still don't have the right words for.
The feeling nobody warns you about
Japan is peaceful. Genuinely, deeply peaceful — in a way that most places aren't. The streets are clean. People are quiet and respectful. Trains arrive on time. Everything works the way it's supposed to. There's an order to daily life there that feels almost meditative.
But underneath the peace, there's something else. A quiet sadness. Not a heavy, devastating sadness — more like a melancholy that lives in the air. In the temples. In the way the light hits an empty street at dusk. In the silence between the crowds.
I don't know how to explain it properly. It's like Japan holds beauty and sorrow in the same breath — and you feel both at the same time without being able to separate them. I've never experienced anything like it anywhere else.
Osaka — loud, bright, and delicious
We started in Osaka, and the energy hit immediately. If Kyoto is Japan's soul, Osaka is its stomach.
Dotonbori was sensory overload in the best way — neon signs stacked on top of each other, the smell of street food from every direction, and crowds that somehow felt exciting rather than exhausting. We got the obligatory photo with the Glico Running Man sign, because you can't not.
The food in Osaka set the tone for the entire trip. Takoyaki from a street stall — crispy outside, molten inside, and nothing like any version I'd tried before. Melon pan that was warm and sweet and gone in about thirty seconds. And the one-dollar sushi. One dollar. For sushi that had no business being that good at that price.
Kuromon Market was where I realised that Japan takes food seriously on a level I wasn't ready for. Every stall looked like it belonged in a magazine. Even the fruit was beautiful — and expensive. But worth walking through just to look.
Nara — ancient, gentle, and full of deer
Nara was a detour we almost didn't make — and I'm so glad we did.
Nara Park is where the famous free-roaming deer live, and they are everywhere. Hundreds of them, wandering through the park like they own the place. (They do.) They'll bow to you if you bow to them — and they'll also aggressively nudge you if they think you have food. It's equal parts adorable and terrifying. We bought the deer crackers and within seconds I was surrounded. Worth it.
Tōdai-ji Temple is inside the park, and walking up to it stopped me in my tracks. It's one of the largest wooden structures in the world, and inside sits a massive bronze Buddha that makes you feel incredibly small. The scale of it is hard to process — you just stand there looking up, trying to understand how something this enormous was built centuries ago.
We passed through the Nandaimon Gate on the way in — two massive wooden guardian statues standing on either side, looking like they've been protecting the temple for centuries. Because they have.
We also walked past Kofuku-ji Temple and its five-storey pagoda — one of the tallest in Japan. And the Nara National Museum was right there too, though we didn't spend long inside. Sometimes just being near these places is enough.
Kyoto — where Japan became a feeling
Kyoto is where the trip shifted from fun to something deeper.
We could see Kyoto Tower from the station — it was our first glimpse of the city, glowing against the sky. And on the way to the main shrines, we passed Hyakumanben Chion-ji Temple — quieter, less crowded, the kind of place you stumble on and feel lucky for finding.
Fushimi Inari-taisha — the shrine with the thousands of orange torii gates — was the first place that took my breath away. Walking through those gates feels like entering another world. The further you climb, the quieter it gets, and the more it feels like the shrine is swallowing you whole — in a good way.
Kinkaku-ji — the Golden Pavilion — was stunning in a way that photos don't capture. The gold reflecting off the water, the stillness of the garden around it. I just stood there. Not even taking photos for a minute. Just looking.
Kiyomizu-dera Temple was massive and ancient and made me feel very small — which, honestly, was comforting. There's something grounding about standing in a place that's been there for over a thousand years. Your problems feel lighter when you're looking at something that survived centuries.
Sanneizaka (Sannenzaka) — the narrow stone streets leading to Kiyomizu-dera — felt like walking through a painting. Traditional wooden shops, lanterns, the sound of wooden sandals on stone. This is where I wore a kimono, and for a few hours, I felt like I belonged to a completely different time.
Ginkaku-ji — the Silver Pavilion — was quieter than Kinkaku-ji and somehow more beautiful for it. The moss garden alone was worth the walk.
Kyoto Imperial Palace and Kyoto Gyoen National Garden — wide open green space in the middle of the city. We just walked. No agenda. No rush. Just two sisters in a garden on the other side of the world.
Kamigamo Jinja Shrine and Shimogamo Jinja Shrine — both felt sacred in a way that's hard to describe. Less touristy, more spiritual. The kind of places where you instinctively lower your voice.
Inside the grounds, Mai-dono Hall and Hashi-dono were beautiful — traditional ceremonial structures surrounded by forest. And tucked nearby was a small kawaii shrine that felt completely different from everything else — bright, playful, and unexpected in the middle of all that stillness.
Yasaka-jinja Shrine and Yasaka Koshindo — Yasaka Koshindo is the one with the colourful cloth balls hanging everywhere. It's one of the most photographed spots in Kyoto, and for good reason — it looks like something from a dream.
The food that stayed with me
I need to talk about the matcha ice cream. I've had matcha everything — lattes, cakes, cookies — but matcha soft serve in Kyoto is on another level. Rich, slightly bitter, impossibly smooth. I had it more than once and I'm not sorry.
And the cheesecake. Japanese cheesecake is lighter than anything I'd ever had — like a cloud that somehow tastes like cheesecake. I don't know how they do it. I don't need to know. I just need to go back and eat more.
And I haven't even mentioned the ramen — rich, steaming bowls that warmed us from the inside out on cold January days. Or the udon, thick and chewy in a way that made me wonder why I'd ever eaten instant noodles. Or the tempura — golden, light, and crispy in a way that shouldn't be possible. Japan doesn't just feed you. It ruins you for every version of these foods you'll ever have again.
Between the takoyaki in Osaka, the street food stalls, and the quiet meals we had tucked into tiny restaurants — Japan ruined me for food in the best possible way.
What I took home (besides fridge magnets)
Japan gave me something I wasn't expecting. Not just memories or photos — but a feeling. A reminder that the world is bigger than my daily life, and that beauty exists in places I haven't been yet.
Travelling with my sister made it even more special. We live on opposite sides of the world now, and spending a week together — just us, no responsibilities, no time zones to navigate — felt like a gift. We laughed a lot. We walked until our feet hurt. We ate until we couldn't move. And for a few days, the distance between us didn't exist.
And then — snow. For the first time in my life, I experienced snow. Real, actual snow falling from the sky. I don't think I can describe what that felt like to someone who grew up in the Philippines, where the closest thing to cold weather is a rainy season. I stood there like a child, looking up, catching it in my hands. My sister and I just laughed. It was one of those pure, unfiltered moments that you hold onto forever.
I came home with fridge magnets, a full camera roll, and a quiet promise to myself: I'm going back.
If Japan is on your list — go. Don't wait for the perfect time or the perfect budget. It will change something in you that you didn't know needed changing. And you'll leave with a feeling you can't quite name — but you'll carry it with you for a long time.
Comments 0