Japan has always struck me as one of the most unique places in Asia, maybe even the world. Everything works. Trains arrive exactly when they should, cities move in perfect rhythm, and there’s an unspoken order to everyday life that feels engineered as much as the country’s gleaming bullet trains. The precision isn’t just in infrastructure, it’s in the people, in the way they navigate crowded stations, in the quiet adherence to rules that keep the whole machine running.

For years, I saw Japan as almost futuristic, a place perpetually ahead of the curve. But this time, something felt off. Beneath the surface of its meticulous order, there were signs of a system aging in place. The technology, once cutting-edge, felt stuck in time. Cash was still king in a world that had long since gone digital. Even the economy, once an unstoppable force, seemed to be lagging. Tokyo, once infamously expensive, now felt like a bargain.

Another person summarized that Japan has been living in the 2000s since the 1970s, but the problem is, they’re still living in the 2000s. On this trip, that felt more true than ever. Japan is still a marvel, still one of the most fascinating places on Earth—but for the first time, it felt less like the future and more like a beautiful machine running on yesterday’s time.