Dream
You know that old rhyme about the little monkeys jumping on the bed? That was my sister and me—except instead of falling off and bumping my head, I fell straight into the bone-eater’s well with Kagome. From Inuyasha to Naruto to Kiki’s Delivery Service, I was completely swept away by the worlds of anime and Japanese storytelling. What started as a childhood obsession grew into a deep fascination with Japan’s culture, history, and language.
For a while, I even dreamed of studying international business and minoring in Japanese—but I talked myself out of it. It felt too far-fetched, too impractical. I’d barely left Illinois and Iowa, let alone the country. But the dream never really let go. Eventually, it started to take shape in a more permanent way.
In late 2018, I hit a kind of existential wall—the kind where you realize a dream might never happen if you don’t chase it now. The thought that haunted me was simple: “If I don’t go right now, I may never go.” That sentence echoed in my head for months. So, I started planning.
No one could join me—my partner wasn’t interested, and friends couldn’t take the time off. I wanted to stay for 30 days. Totally reasonable. So, I decided to go alone. A solo trip to Japan, chasing the dream I’d carried since childhood.
In April 2019, I stepped off the plane at Narita Airport. The trip was everything I hoped for—overwhelming in the best way. One of the most meaningful stops was in Minowa, a quiet town in Nagano Prefecture between Tokyo and Kyoto. I stayed with a host named Shiro, whose family welcomed me to stay with them.
One afternoon, Shiro’s mother invited me to her calligraphy class. I assumed I’d just observe, but the instructor handed me a brush and gestured for me to join. Despite the language barrier, we connected through the shared rhythm of brush strokes and black ink. He taught me how to write “neko” (cat) in kanji—carefully guiding each stroke. I ended up with several drying sheets of my clumsy but heartfelt attempts.
Before I left, the instructor asked me to choose a word so he could create a calligraphy gift for me. I was caught off guard, unsure what to say—but one word had been in my heart since I booked my flight: dream. This whole journey had felt like one.
The next day, Shiro handed me a piece of parchment with the kanji for yume (dream), painted in the instructor’s hand. My dream, made real—and now captured in ink.
In May 2022, I finally got my first tattoo. The choice was easy. I asked Josh Kilby to replicate the exact brushstrokes of yume onto my arm. Now, whenever someone asks what it means, I get to tell them this story—and remember that dreams don’t always fade. Sometimes, they wait.