My family had an opportunity to live in Japan for six months, and I had to attend the first semester of eighth grade at an international school.

I grew up in America speaking both Korean and English. I was used to people complimenting me or thinking it was cool to be bilingual. So the thought of a language barrier never really hit me until I arrived in Japan. For the first few weeks, I really did have to take a step back and think through some things to just accomplish daily tasks. So when I entered the international school on the first day with the opportunity to speak English, I was a bit relieved. But, along with this feeling, nerves overwhelmed me. What would people think of me? I knew this went through every kid’s mind on their first day of school, but that didn’t make it any less scary.

To make matters worse, my train to the school was delayed, and this resulted in an embarrassing escort to science class. Everyone in my class was already in their own groups. A group of boys at one table to my left. A group of girls at the other table to my right. I just tried to look calm, ignored the stares, and planted myself at the back of the classroom.

I had a few conversations with my peers throughout August, but I missed the comfort of school in America. I knew how things worked there. Being in a new place with a different set of gears was more intimidating than I thought it would be. And one day, after a couple of weeks adjusting to the new school, our physical education teacher announced that we were going to take a wilderness trip to Hakuba for four days. Everyone else instantly cheered. I was excited for what awaited us there: jumping off of waterfalls, canoeing through the lake, s’mores, a bus ride. However, I was still terrified on the inside. This meant that I had to confront my fear of bonding with my classmates. So, as the trip approached, my sense of half-excitement and half-fear divided me.

Then the day came. I was off to Hakuba. The wilderness. A school trip with my class. It was an eight-hour ride, but I sat where I could be alone and quietly embraced the beautiful mountain view. Once we arrived at the hotel, our group leader sent us out on a scavenger hunt. I grudgingly went off with my group and, although we didn’t win, I had a decent amount of fun.

The next day, it was announced that we were going to go canyoning. We would follow a safe route downstream and eventually jump off of a waterfall. I was thrilled that the moment of fun had finally arrived at my doorstep. After attaching ourselves (with difficulty) to the safety gear, our group got into a car. The tour guide had mentioned that it was going to be a very bumpy ride, but I just shrugged it off. Once we went up the hill route, the car began to shake. A lot. My helmet, although strongly latched, was pumping up and down rapidly, and at that moment, I held on to the back of my seat as hard as I could. My knuckles were turning white, and a huge turn made all of us all grab whatever was to the left of us. A mixture of laughter, groans of pain, and a shout of surprise filled the car. As soon as the ride was over, the driver looked back. I could tell he expected complaints barraging him, but to his surprise, he just saw happy grins and eventual laughs from all of us. It was then that it hit me — this trip wasn’t so bad after all.

Finally, after a hike up and down across the mountains, our group arrived at the waterfall. I was excited, but as I looked around, I realized that a lot of people were absolutely terrified. A friend I had made earlier was looking a bit nervous. He told me that he was scared of water and couldn’t swim well. I tried to reassure him, but nothing really worked. One by one, people screamed and plunged into the water below us. Many of us laughed, but my friend was getting increasingly nervous. Once I, my friend, and about two other people were left, I told him that I would go down first. I was hoping this would reassure him. I promised I would help him when he got down. He nodded yes, but I could tell he was still scared.

I treated myself to joy as I tumbled down the slippery rocks and into the water. The cold plunge left me feeling excitement and exhaustion, but after that, I immediately looked up. My friend was sitting at the top of the waterfall, debating whether he should slide down. The class was watching intently for moments. We were all wondering: Will he come down? I could even feel my own heart race, because it was nerve-racking for me too, to jump off of that waterfall. But then our question was answered when, after a few moments, he came down with a splash. He was struggling to swim, but I helped him up to the boulder our class was sitting on. Our guide came to us, with a stunning backflip, and offered to take a photo.

Once we were all lined up, I whispered to my friend, “Are you alright?” He nodded to me and said, “Thanks.” I just smiled, and teased him about how it took so long for him to come down. It was then I realized that the school experience is not only about education, but also about forming connections. Moments like these were special and would only push me across the line of nerves and friendship. And I knew that I had built many special ones on that thrilling trip at Hakuba.

When it was time for me to leave Japan, I felt a wave of melancholy and nostalgia. On my final day at Kyoto International School, I realized I was going to leave a school that certainly had a place in my heart. I looked at the school for the last time before I left, sad that the thrilling ride was over, but happy for the memories and connections it had built inside me.