I left the U.S. at 16, and metaphorically never came back. Knowing there would be unavoidable consequences, such as never quite fitting into American culture again, I left. My journey to this stage in life, 21 years old, has been challenging, sprinkled with disappointment, and blended to fulfillment. I finally made the pilgrimage to a place I had been connected to without ever setting foot on the soil. My older "sisters' had all been there, knew the language and always told me stories about life on the island. They taught me the arts and manners of the people. I must have learned well because I hit the ground running and never looked back.

I learned Japanese in a year. I'm not talking about the basics. I mean I actually became Japanese, and it brought with it a slough of frustration. People couldn't figure out why I knew how to speak so well. They became frustrated because it isn't supposed to work like that. Japan has a national pride that says only Japanese blooded people can truly understand the language. Of course, we all know that it isn't true. Humans adapt to whatever circumstances they're born into.

I adapted to Japan. For some reason, I think my brain had been predisposed to the language because of all the exposure I received as a child. I used to watch cartoons that my host-sisters bought for me over and over again until my mom had to turn them off. I learned to fold Origami like a champ from the age of four. It's clear that I've always been Japanese. Thing thing is, I'm not Japanese.

I'm your typical Caucasian, middle-class American. I didn't understand why I was able to start using Japanese the moment I first stepped off the plane in Narita International Airport, but I did. I've had more conversations trying to explain my identity, but I simply can't do it. So, most of the time I just make something up. Some call it lying. I call it appeasement. If people can't figure out why I'm white and I speak Japanese clearly -- I don't try to confuse them. If they don't ask details, I don't tell them.

I wouldn't change a thing about my experiences in Japanese high school. It prepared me for much tougher challenges in life. My self-esteem was pushed to the edge and it didn't kill me-- and I'm not good with old adages-- but I know I'm stronger for it. Travel ignited my life. I believe it's the single most important thing a person can do to understand his own identity. Life turns from monochrome to the Wizard of Oz, in color, of course. People are the same everywhere. But they're not. Right? L.A. is different from New York... is different from Paris is different from New Delhi, and so on. The minutiae is insignificant. However, one will surely find strength of character after acknowledging the differences between people and accepting them. There's no other way around it. I believe travel teaches compromise and patience amid countless frustration.

Thanks to all who have traveled, told a friend about a journey. Thanks to Paolo Coelho for writing "The Alchemist." Thanks to whoever decides to take the risk of abandoning security for experience. Tomorrow is not promised. So, take a moment to put life in perspective and go somewhere.