Chapter 8: The shadows in my Yokosuka apartment

I can’t believe this happened to me. It was so embarrassing when I think about it now. I couldn’t get into my flat or whatever apartment I had booked when I arrived in Japan. I was banging on the door. Why isn’t anyone opening the door? Why can’t I get this bloody door open? What’s wrong with it? The door was perfectly shut and locked. The last thing a girl needs when she has just arrived in a place she has never been to. No one was there. No one wanted me in, or so I felt. I kept shouting, “Hello! Hello! Konnichiwa! Konnichiwa!” No one came out.

It was the second day I had been in Japan. On the first day, we all gathered after travelling from our home country. We had a group induction with Compass Academy, sat through a conference, got on-boarded, and shared dinner at an izakaya, drinking and getting acquainted. The company paid for our stay at the hotel that night so we could all be together.

The next day, before the teaching week began, we were sent away to our assigned apartments or wherever we had reserved to stay. I was assigned a place in Yokosuka. As I said, this was my first time visiting Yokosuka. Solo Mary, here she comes! I recall booking that one while I was in London. However, I might have needed to be more focused on life before my departure to give serious consideration to where my next bed would be. I should have taken it more seriously.

Exiting Yokosuka station, I noticed the familiar cemented streets reminiscent of London but no skyscrapers. I could smell the sea, feel its breeze, and hear seagulls. The atmosphere was unmistakably coastal.

I had requested Yokohama as it was closer to Tokyo, but Yokosuka wasn’t too far from Yokohama. The area was also cheaper compared to Tokyo or Yokohama. Walking around, I spotted convenience stores like 7-Eleven, ramen shops, school kids heading home, and beautiful koi-themed red and blue decorations swaying in the sea breeze. It felt surreal but distinctly Japanese. It was as if I was in a Japanese fisherman’s village. But, more distinctively, I remember seeing American men, loud, beefy. They were sailors or marines. Yokosuka is known for its American military bases.

Finding my apartment was a nightmare. Exhausted and jet lagged, I dragged my massive luggage, remembering there were two, through narrow streets, finally locating the place. But I couldn’t get in. No phone, no SIM card, no way to contact anyone. Desperate and hungry, I wandered back into town, found a café, and prayed that somehow, I’d figure it out before nightfall. I couldn’t open the door because it was locked. No one was in sight to help. Or maybe they saw me, a gaijin, and hid themselves from me.

Hours later, I returned. Watching locals enter shops through sliding doors triggered a realisation—sliding doors! That’s when I had my eureka moment. I totally forgot that sliding doors were the norm in Japan. I hadn’t switched on my Japanese knowledge battery yet. Mortified, I slid the apartment door open effortlessly. I must have looked like a madwoman earlier, shouting and banging.

The place was basic: tatami mats, wooden sliding doors, and paper-thin walls. It was eerily quiet. I dumped my luggage, stared at the bare room, and thought, “I can’t stay here long.” But that night, I resolved to figure it out.

The next morning, suited up for my first training day, I skipped breakfast and left the building. On my way out, I bumped into a Chinese man and greeted him with a polite “Konnichiwa.” He barely acknowledged me. I may have heard him mutter ‘Konnichiwa’ back at me under his breath.

I remember still being excited and wondering how this was going to pan out after spending my third day with other AETs (Assistant English Teachers). It was good to know some familiar faces, speak English, and be with people who were in the same predicament as me.

After a long day of induction at Compass Academy, I returned to my apartment feeling slightly more settled, having bonded with fellow teachers. I grabbed some essentials from a convenience store: noodles, onigiri, and iced tea, which are comfort foods I already loved.

That night, I noticed my Chinese neighbour again. He still avoided eye contact, retreating quickly into his room. Oddly, I could hear every sound he made, his movements echoed through the thin walls.

I tried to turn on some music. At this point, I already had a mobile phone and local SIM, so I turned on my laptop and watched some movies using torrents to download them. This helped me to stay distracted while eating my home-cooked ramen noodles. But his mouse-like movements in his room made me feel uncomfortable. It was as if he was in my own room. I looked around the room to see if there were any holes. There were none. Sometimes, I could see him moving at night by turning his room light on and off and seeing his shadow. I saw the light turn on and off from my front room door. I always made sure to have my door locked.

The following morning, I found a note under my door, written in Japanese and Chinese characters. I couldn’t read it, but I later translated it on the train. It was from the Chinese man: “I think you’re very beautiful. Here’s my number. Would you like to have coffee or dinner?”

Fear gripped me. It gave me otaku* vibes. Alone in a foreign country, 23 years old, with no family nearby, I felt vulnerable. As soon as I arrived at the office that day, I reported the incident. The company acted swiftly, helping me secure a new, safer apartment. It was a bustling building with families, children, and the reassuring noise of life. A safer neighbourhood.

Looking back, nearly two decades and 50 countries later, I’ve learned never to book long-term accommodation without seeing it first. Photos can be deceiving, and neighbours—well, they’re a wildcard everywhere.

Japan is one of the safest countries I’ve lived in, but even there, being a woman comes with unique challenges. I was fortunate, never assaulted, never harmed, but that early experience taught me vigilance. Safety is never guaranteed, no matter where you are.

Please note: Names and places have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals and organisations

*Otaku: (in Japan) a young person who is obsessed with computers or particular aspects of popular culture to the detriment of their social skills: