I stood at the port in Izuhara under a sweating sun. The back of my shirt had long since become married to my skin, and I kept my eyes peeled for a spot of shade where I could watch the summer festival performances from.

I stood at the back by the sound booth, believing I’d be out of the way. But that’s a cute thought when you’re one of two people that doesn’t look like everyone else on a thirty-thousand-person island. I had small kids come up to stand at my elbow and take covert peeks at me as we watched the schools perform a hula dance. After the boys left, a group of young girls took a lap around me to get a three sixty view of the new English teacher. I had my mask on, so no one could see the jovial smile I had. But I think the creased corners of my eyes would give it away if my glasses didn’t cover them.

It’s one thing to know that you’ll be moving away from all your friends and family. And that in this new place you’ll be living, you’ll stand out like a sore thumb. But there’s something inherently pleasant (to me) about seeing the curious faces because mine, too, must have the same look. Everywhere I go, there is something bright and new— some aspect of this culture that I have yet to learn about or experience. And for that, I am grateful and filled with vivacious joy.

To end the night, I returned to the apartment complex with the small cadre of fellow teachers, and we stood upon a small balcony to watch one of the most magnificent displays of fireworks I’ve ever seen. The resplendent lights were married to earth-shattering explosions as each performance progression brought the angles of their powdered rockets closer to our building.

A veritable sundry of reds, yellows, oranges, blues, and greens dappled the blue-black canvas of the sky. I saw the formation of brief choreographed images— like the Tsushima crest and a cheeky smile. The ghost of the colors hung in the air— a countenance to the shocking colors that had been there only moments before.

For twenty-five minutes, I stood frozen by beauty. In those twenty-five minutes, as a pale moon radiated in defiance against the flickering changes above the bay, I felt I had arrived on the island.