“Home isn’t always the place where we were born. Sometimes, home is the place that slowly comes to accept us.” ~~
The train stopped exactly at the station that was Riza’s destination.
An announcement in Japanese came over the cabin speaker, followed by the sound of the train doors opening. The passengers began getting off, moving quickly but in an orderly manner.
Riza rose from her seat and reached for the suitcase handle. The two suitcases she had brought all the way from Indonesia felt heavier after being moved around so many times. Still, she pulled them along slowly, following the flow of passengers toward the station exit.
When she stepped out of the station building, the spring air welcomed her. It wasn’t too cold. A gentle breeze carried the scent of flowers from the trees growing along the road.
Riza opened Maps on her phone. According to the information provided by the university, the international student dormitory was about a fifteen-minute walk from the main campus. It wasn’t far from the station, so students could easily take the train or walk.
She started walking, following the directions. The neighborhood looked peaceful. Small houses stood neatly along the road, some with tiny gardens in front. Bicycles were lined up near the fences, and small shops were beginning to open their doors.
Several students walked past her with backpacks slung over their shoulders. Some spoke Japanese, while others seemed to be speaking foreign languages she had never heard before.
Riza took it all in with curiosity. She had once seen scenery like this only on a TV screen or in videos on the internet. Now, she was truly walking among the streets of a Japanese city.
After walking for a few minutes, a four-story building with a sign reading International Student Dormitory came into view at the end of the street. The building wasn’t very large, but it looked comfortable. In the front yard stood an almost-full bicycle rack, several green plants, and a cherry tree beginning to bloom.
Riza paused to make sure she had the right address. It was correct. She pulled her suitcases through the main entrance.
The dormitory lobby was livelier than she had expected. Several students sat on the sofas, talking in English. Near the vending machine, a student carrying a box of food chatted with a friend.
The atmosphere was different from what she had imagined. She had briefly thought the dormitory would feel as quiet as a hotel. Instead, the place was more like a large house inhabited by people from all over the world.
Riza walked toward the reception desk. A middle-aged woman wearing a gray blazer was examining several documents. When she saw Riza approach, the woman immediately stood and smiled.
“Konnichiwa. Irasshaimase.”
Riza felt a little nervous. She gave a small bow.
“Konnichiwa. Watashi wa Riza desu.”
But because she didn’t yet feel confident speaking at length in Japanese, she continued in English.
“Hello. My name is Riza Arsyila Fadhila. I’m a new international student.”
The woman smiled in understanding.
“Oh, welcome. You’re a new student from overseas?”
“Yes.”
Riza handed over her passport, university acceptance letter, and dormitory documents.
The woman examined the papers carefully.
“Riza Arsyila Fadhila…”
She read the name slowly, then looked at Riza’s face.
A few seconds later, she smiled.
“May I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“Are you from the Middle East?”
The question caught Riza slightly off guard, but it wasn’t anything new to her.
“No, I’m from Indonesia.”
She gave a small smile.
“Oh, Indonesia.”
The woman seemed to understand.
“I’m sorry. I thought you might be from Saudi Arabia or another Middle Eastern country.”
“It’s okay. Many people think that when they meet me for the first time.”
The woman smiled.
“I see.”
She then opened Riza’s passport and confirmed her information.
“Indonesia. Welcome to Japan, Miss Riza.”
The woman introduced herself as Mrs. Mizaki, the manager of the international student dormitory.
Riza had often received similar questions since she was a teenager. Her face had several features that often led foreigners to guess that she was from somewhere else.
Her skin was a bright tan, her face oval-shaped, with strong black eyebrows and dark brown eyes that stood out. When she wore a simple headscarf, her appearance often gave some people the impression that she was from the Middle East.
But Riza wasn’t bothered by it. She understood that people were simply trying to get to know her based on their first impression.
Mrs. Mizaki handed her a blue folder.
“Inside this folder, there are dormitory rules, campus information, and emergency contacts.”
Riza opened the folder for a moment. It contained various kinds of information, from facility-use schedules and trash-disposal rules to important phone numbers.
“Many international students live here,” Mrs. Mizaki explained.
“You’ll meet students from many countries.”
“Are there any students from Indonesia?”
“Yes. Several.”
The answer made Riza feel a little relieved.
“That’s good.”
Mrs. Mizaki smiled.
“Don’t worry. Everyone here was once a new student.”
After the administrative process was complete, Mrs. Mizaki escorted Riza to her room. They took the elevator to the third floor.
Along the way, Riza observed the dormitory surroundings.
On the second floor, there was a fairly spacious study room. Several students sat reading books with laptops open in front of them.
The same floor also had a shared kitchen. Small shelves filled with cooking utensils were neatly arranged, each labeled with a resident’s name.
“Everyone must keep the shared area clean,” Mrs. Mizaki said.
Riza nodded.
The habit of keeping shared spaces clean was clearly emphasized.
They stopped in front of a door numbered 207.
“This is your room.”
Riza accepted the key from Mrs. Mizaki.
When the door opened, a simple yet comfortable room welcomed her.
There was a small bed near the window, a study desk, a wardrobe, and a bookshelf.
It wasn’t large, but all the basic necessities were provided.
Riza set her suitcases on the floor. From her bedroom window, she could see the dormitory’s backyard and a small road lined with trees.
“Your campus is about fifteen minutes from here on foot,” Mrs. Mizaki explained.
“Many students walk or ride bicycles.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Yes.”
After explaining a few important things, Mrs. Mizaki said goodbye.
“If you need help, please come to my office.”
“Thank you very much.”
The door closed slowly.
Riza stood alone in the middle of the room. She began unpacking her suitcases one by one. She put her clothes in the wardrobe. Her textbooks went on the shelf. She took out a few small things from Indonesia and placed them on the desk.
Late afternoon arrived when Riza decided to go out and find something to eat.
There was a convenience store not far from the dormitory. She went inside carrying a small wallet.
But as soon as she stood in front of the beverage shelf, she faced another new challenge.
Japanese writing covered almost every package.
She stood in front of the beverage shelf for quite a while.
“Hmm… this must be tea,” she murmured, picking up a brown bottle.
After paying and returning to her room, she opened the bottle and took a sip.
A few seconds later, her expression changed.
“Bitter…”
It turned out she had bought unsweetened black coffee. Riza laughed softly.
A small mistake on her first day. She was beginning to understand that living in Japan meant being ready to face many new things.
That night, after finishing her prayers and tidying her room, Riza video-called her family.
Her mother’s face appeared on the screen.
“Thank God… your room is so neat,” Mom said.
“Yeah, Mom. It’s comfortable too.”
“Have you eaten?”
Riza smiled. That question was always the first one.
“Yes, I have.”
Her father joined in from behind her.
“Are your campus activities starting tomorrow, Riza?”
“Yes, Dad. There’s an orientation for international students.”
“Study hard. Don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything you don’t understand.”
“Yes, Dad.”
That simple conversation lasted almost half an hour.
When the phone screen finally went dark, the room fell silent again.
Riza straightened her blanket, then sat for a moment in front of her study desk.
Outside the window, the night wind stirred the branches of the cherry trees.
She opened the small notebook she always carried and wrote a sentence.
“First day in the dormitory. There’s still so much I have to learn, but every new thing begins with the courage to try.”
She closed the notebook, turned off the light, and let her first night in her second home welcome her quietly. ... ...