Why I’m Building My Nest in Japan

Reading soundtrack: “4:00 A.M.” by Taeko Ohnuki 🎶

I’m writing this from Japan—a place I thought I’d secured my future in, at least for a while. But life has a way of moving the goalposts, doesn’t it? Recent changes to the business manager visa requirements, including a sixfold increase in capital requirements, have thrown a wrench into my plans. The dream I thought I’d caught is suddenly just out of reach again, hovering somewhere between “almost there” and “back to the drawing board.”

But here’s the thing: setbacks don’t erase the why. If anything, they make it clearer.

So let me tell you why I’m still here, still dreaming, still searching for my nest in Japan.

There’s something about akiya—those abandoned homes scattered across Japan—that calls to me. Maybe it’s the affordability (because let’s be real, owning a home shouldn’t require selling a kidney). Maybe it’s the idea of restoration as an act of creation: taking something forgotten and making it sing again. Traditional on the outside, modern and cozy on the inside. A place where old bones meet new life.

I started my search in Fukuoka, where my startup visa is based, but I’m flexible. As long as it’s within an hour of a major city and has a view that isn’t just my neighbor’s wall, I’m interested. Mountains, sea, trees—something that reminds me the world is bigger than the four walls I’m in. Something that breathes.

And yes, I want pets. A home isn’t really a home without a furry friend or two or three padding around, keeping you company while you sip your morning tea.

If you’ve read my bio, you know I’m a homebody through and through. Home isn’t just where I live—it’s my safe haven, my anchor in a world that often feels too loud and too fast. It’s where I recharge, where I create, where I exist without explanation.

The akiya I’m dreaming of isn’t about grandeur or Instagram-perfect aesthetics. It’s about function and feeling. A space where every object has a purpose, where beauty and utility aren’t at odds. Calm curation, not clutter. A place where I can wake up slowly, make tea in a pot I love, and feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Even if it takes longer than I planned to get there.

I collect WTFs—Wonderful Treasure Finds. Things that spark something in me, whether it’s a hand-thrown ceramic teapot or a sleek modern gadget that just works. I’m not interested in stuff for the sake of stuff. I want objects that tell a story, that serve a purpose, that make me smile when I see them.

There’s a teapot I’ve been eyeing by 3rd Ceramics. It’s beautiful, functional, and honestly a bit expensive. But I’ve decided it’s going to be my reward—something I buy for myself when I finally move into my akiya. A little promise to future me that we’ll get there.

Because home isn’t just about the walls. It’s about the objects you choose to fill it with, the rituals you create, the quiet moments you carve out for yourself. I want to build my nest slowly, intentionally, with things that matter.

I won’t lie—this setback stings. I thought I was further along than I am. But I’m learning that dreams don’t follow straight lines. They loop, they pause, they redirect. And maybe that’s okay.

I’m still here. I’m still looking. I’m still believing that somewhere in Japan, there’s an akiya waiting for me—and I’m going to find it.

Even if the timeline has changed, the destination hasn’t.

I’ve been watching this creator (Tokyo Llama) who bought an akiya and spent the next 4 years transforming it into his dream home. There’s something about seeing the process—the slow, patient work of making something forgotten beautiful again—that keeps me going on days when my own timeline feels impossibly far away.

Watch his journey here—it’s worth every minute.

Now I want to hear from you: What’s one item that makes your home feel special? Or if you’re dreaming of a future home like me, what’s the first thing you’d put in it?

Drop a comment—I’d love to know what grounds you. 🍵