Embassy of Japan in Washington D.C.
Four months ago I was uncontrollably crying in my blue Honda Civic outside the Japanese Embassy in Washington D.C.
I called my brother Ben: "I am such an idiot, Ben. Why am I so stupid? I can't believe I made such a stupid mistake. I feel like a child."
My brother, a practical guy, stuttered not knowing what to say. "I...I don't know, Emi. You should have checked your e-mail twice. I don't know what to say to you."
A few minutes later my oldest brother Ken called me. "I heard the news. Don't worry, Emi. I know you feel stupid now, but it's just a lesson to be learned. You'll forget about it soon enough."
I didn't believe those words, that I would forget soon. I had thought about doing the Japanese Exchange and Teaching (JET) Program for a couple of years at this point. Unsure about where I wanted to be in five years, I saw JET as an opportunity to explore my interests: I would get to work with children, practice my mother's native language, learn about a foreign education system, and hopefully assist with an after school soccer program. But there I was, in my blue Honda Civic, crying because I missed my interview.
The two hour car ride back to Charlottesville provided ample time for me to reflect on my careless mistake. I replayed the past 36 hours in my mind on loop: The day before I scrambled to collect all the forms I needed, my suit, a Japanese textbook, and my laptop before racing off to play rehearsal. Late that night, after rehearsal, I drove to Northern Virginia and spent the next morning and early afternoon brushing up on my Japanese, reading through recent Japanese news, and reviewing interview questions on glassdoor.com. The day seemed to drag along, compounding the impact of being told "I'm sorry Ms. Ellis, your interview was at 4:05pm, not 4:50. As you know, we are unable to reschedule." I felt like I had been slapped across the face. Not in an insulting way, but in a way that was telling me, "Wake up, Emi. You're in the real world now, you're not a child anymore." How could I have put SO much work into preparing for the interview itself, yet failed to make sure I had the interview time right.
The JET administrator stood on the other side of the security metal detector just inside the entrance of the Embassy. My eyes diverted from hers for fear of crying. You're 22 years old, Emi. Get it together. I looked at the JET poster next to her, embroidered with cherry blossoms and stamped with a silhouette of a teacher and pupil. It was over. All that preparation, those letters of recommendation, the application, the glassdoor.com questions, were for nothing.
I looked back at the administrator, forced a smile, apologized, and walked right back out the door. The security guard at the front gate looked at me sympathetically.
"Are you alright?"
"No. But I will be, eventually."
Despite my chagrin for having made such a careless error, I sent an e-mail to JET at 9am the next morning apologizing for my absent-mindedness and wishing them luck finding this year's teachers. It was my lucky day. They called me at noon, stressing that they rarely if ever reschedule interviews, but invited me back three hours from then if I still wished to interview. I ran across UVA's Grounds with my backpack half open, changed at home, hopped in my car, and made the two-hour trek back up to D.C. A month and a half later, I got a call saying that I had been accepted into the JET Program.
That week in February was a roller coaster of blunders, emotions, and palm-to-face moments. Luckily for me, everything turned out all right. I still feel like I'm too young for this. I still cannot believe that I have graduated college and am supposed to march off into the real world, supposedly equipped with the skills I need to succeed. But I guess missing my interview was a wake-up call for me. It was like stumbling over the threshold of a door, leaving the cozy home I know as UVA and beginning the adventure that waits for me abroad come August 2nd. Japan, I may not know what you will be bringing my way, but I am happy to say that at least now I'm ready for you.
I called my brother Ben: "I am such an idiot, Ben. Why am I so stupid? I can't believe I made such a stupid mistake. I feel like a child."
My brother, a practical guy, stuttered not knowing what to say. "I...I don't know, Emi. You should have checked your e-mail twice. I don't know what to say to you."
A few minutes later my oldest brother Ken called me. "I heard the news. Don't worry, Emi. I know you feel stupid now, but it's just a lesson to be learned. You'll forget about it soon enough."
I didn't believe those words, that I would forget soon. I had thought about doing the Japanese Exchange and Teaching (JET) Program for a couple of years at this point. Unsure about where I wanted to be in five years, I saw JET as an opportunity to explore my interests: I would get to work with children, practice my mother's native language, learn about a foreign education system, and hopefully assist with an after school soccer program. But there I was, in my blue Honda Civic, crying because I missed my interview.
The two hour car ride back to Charlottesville provided ample time for me to reflect on my careless mistake. I replayed the past 36 hours in my mind on loop: The day before I scrambled to collect all the forms I needed, my suit, a Japanese textbook, and my laptop before racing off to play rehearsal. Late that night, after rehearsal, I drove to Northern Virginia and spent the next morning and early afternoon brushing up on my Japanese, reading through recent Japanese news, and reviewing interview questions on glassdoor.com. The day seemed to drag along, compounding the impact of being told "I'm sorry Ms. Ellis, your interview was at 4:05pm, not 4:50. As you know, we are unable to reschedule." I felt like I had been slapped across the face. Not in an insulting way, but in a way that was telling me, "Wake up, Emi. You're in the real world now, you're not a child anymore." How could I have put SO much work into preparing for the interview itself, yet failed to make sure I had the interview time right.
The JET administrator stood on the other side of the security metal detector just inside the entrance of the Embassy. My eyes diverted from hers for fear of crying. You're 22 years old, Emi. Get it together. I looked at the JET poster next to her, embroidered with cherry blossoms and stamped with a silhouette of a teacher and pupil. It was over. All that preparation, those letters of recommendation, the application, the glassdoor.com questions, were for nothing.
I looked back at the administrator, forced a smile, apologized, and walked right back out the door. The security guard at the front gate looked at me sympathetically.
"Are you alright?"
"No. But I will be, eventually."
Despite my chagrin for having made such a careless error, I sent an e-mail to JET at 9am the next morning apologizing for my absent-mindedness and wishing them luck finding this year's teachers. It was my lucky day. They called me at noon, stressing that they rarely if ever reschedule interviews, but invited me back three hours from then if I still wished to interview. I ran across UVA's Grounds with my backpack half open, changed at home, hopped in my car, and made the two-hour trek back up to D.C. A month and a half later, I got a call saying that I had been accepted into the JET Program.
That week in February was a roller coaster of blunders, emotions, and palm-to-face moments. Luckily for me, everything turned out all right. I still feel like I'm too young for this. I still cannot believe that I have graduated college and am supposed to march off into the real world, supposedly equipped with the skills I need to succeed. But I guess missing my interview was a wake-up call for me. It was like stumbling over the threshold of a door, leaving the cozy home I know as UVA and beginning the adventure that waits for me abroad come August 2nd. Japan, I may not know what you will be bringing my way, but I am happy to say that at least now I'm ready for you.