"Thank you for everything," I said, holding back tears, "I will never forget the amazing days I spent with you." I stood in front of the security gate in Pittsburgh International Airport. "I'm going to… miss you… so much," I managed to say between sobs. Clear sky, fresh air and a nice smell of morning coffee. Everything was too perfect to say goodbye to Cathy, my host sister.
It wasn't our first goodbye. Last year, Cathy came to my house in Japan as a homestay student. Following a wonderful week, she went back home to Pittsburgh, after which our friendship grew.
Filled with emotions, welling up with tears, I waited for her to say something. Compared to me crying my eyes out, she had a much brighter outlook on our parting. "Yeah," she chirped, "but I can't wait to see you again! Have a safe flight, Anna!"

A quick hug and she gently urged me to go to the gate.

If I am being honest with myself, and you the reader, I was disappointed. I had always believed that it is only polite to follow the Japanese cultural custom of nagori oshimu―saying goodbye reluctantly. I expected her to be just as reluctant. When I was walking into the line of the gate, my head filled with many questions. "Isn't she sad that I'm leaving? Won't she miss me even a little? Did I do something wrong?" I turned to see her face, but she was gone.

But as soon as I touched down, she texted me "I miss you so much already!"

Why now?!

Even after 3 in-flight movies and a long, restless nap on the airplane, I was still thinking about this ordeal. Perhaps she wasn't very moved because she no longer cared about me.

After some research online, I found that many fellow Japanese have been in the same situation. Not only that, but I also read a blog written by an American woman living in Japan introducing her experiences of parting with Japanese friends. What surprised me more was that she felt very awkward when Japanese showed reluctance to leaving. This reminded me of Hofstede's cultural dimensions theory on differences in cultures across countries and how those relate to values and behavior. According to the theory, Japan is a collectivistic country, meaning that people value connections and crave sustained connections with others. This accounts for the nagori oshimu custom: it is a display of our wish to remain together. In contrast, countries like America are individualistic and people value independence.

It might be true that cultural differences lead people to have different values. This past year, my host sister didn't text me as much as my other long-distance friends. Despite this, I neither think she doesn't care about me, nor do I believe people in individualistic countries don't care. When telling her that economics would prevent me from being able to visit her as I had planned, her family agreed to let me stay at her house. She then planned the entire trip for me. She took me to many places and let me try anything I wanted. She stuck by my side and introduced me to her amazing friends. Why would she have done this if she didn't care about me?

Regardless of the culture, everyone has their own life to live and their own sense of values to guide them. Having the exact same sense should not be the thing that maintains a friendship. If what you and your friends value the most is different, even if that changes, the memories of the good times you spent together stay. And that's all you need to stay connected.

I'm sure that I will have various people as my friends, and it may not be easy for me or them to keep in touch. When that time comes, I will remember my experiences throughout each friendship.

And in the end, even if Cathy doesn't cry, you can be sure that I will.

When I was in elementary school, there was a classmate with a disability. He rarely spoke in class and often kept to himself. During lessons, whenever he struggled with something, our teacher would gently ask others to support him. One day, it was my turn.

I remember walking over to his desk, trying to smile and speak kindly. I explained the task slowly and clearly, pointing to things in his notebook and offering help wherever I could. He followed along silently. He didn’t nod, didn’t look me in the eye — just quietly did what I suggested. I tried to tell myself that maybe he was shy, or simply not used to this kind of interaction. But honestly, I was bothered. I had expected something — a small “thank you,” a smile, anything.

After I returned to my seat, I kept looking at him out of the corner of my eye. Nothing changed. He didn’t acknowledge me once. I felt invisible, and maybe a little frustrated. I had done something kind — wasn’t I supposed to feel appreciated? That evening, I kept replaying the moment in my mind. I wasn’t angry at him, but I felt disappointed, and even confused. Maybe I had misunderstood the whole situation.

The next morning, I arrived at school as usual. When I got to my desk, I noticed something new on top of my books: a small card, neatly folded. Inside, written in careful letters, was a simple message: “Thank you.”

There was no name. But somehow, I knew exactly who had left it. His name didn’t need to be there — the message itself carried enough weight. I glanced across the room and saw him quietly preparing for class, just as always. No glance, no wave. Just a quiet presence. But everything felt different now.

That moment changed how I understood communication.

Until then, I had believed that gratitude should follow certain rules — that words or gestures like smiling, nodding, or saying “thank you” were necessary to complete the cycle of kindness. But now, I realized something far more important: gratitude is not about formality — it’s about sincerity. For my classmate, words may not have come easily. But he had taken the time to write a message, fold a card, and secretly leave it on my desk. It was a quiet act, but one filled with thought and care.

This experience made me rethink the very meaning of communication. We often define it in terms of language, tone, and body language. But in truth, communication is simply the effort to connect — to make our thoughts and feelings known, regardless of the method. For some, it’s through speech; for others, through writing, drawing, or action. What matters is not the form, but the heart behind it.

Since then, I’ve become more attentive to the silent ways people express themselves — the friend who sits beside you without saying a word when you’re feeling down, the stranger who holds the door a little longer than usual, the sibling who leaves your favorite snack on the table without a note. None of these things is spoken, but they are all forms of communication — and in many ways, they speak louder than words.

Looking back, I’m grateful that I was “bothered” by the silence. If I hadn’t felt that discomfort, I might never have noticed the beauty in that quiet gesture the next day. Sometimes, a gap or a silence is not a lack of connection — it is an invitation to listen more carefully.

The world is full of unspoken messages. We just have to be open enough — and quiet enough — to hear them.

Today, I believe that the most powerful connections are built not only through eloquent words or grand gestures, but through small, heartfelt acts that often go unnoticed. A folded piece of paper. A handwritten note. A silent “thank you.” These are the things that truly connect us.

My cousin’s arms are her mouth. Her hands and arms move, willed in all directions ― this is her way of communicating. Rarely do I spend time without complicated feelings when people look at her with strange eyes.

Two years ago in May, I enjoyed a sunny day at the park with my cousins and my sisters. We played on the playground for three or four hours. Then my mother called me and said, “It’s lunch time, so come home.” I thought I had to begin working hard. I told everyone “Let’s go home,” but only one person didn’t nod. It was my cute cousin. She has Down’s syndrome. She is an elementary school student who is very good at dancing and is not very good at talking.

I had known that she was fond of the park. At that time, first she pronounced “Ya!” or “N!” She could only say those few words. However, we had talked a lot by that point, so I understood what she meant by saying those unclear words and using her arms and hands.

She didn’t want to go home. First, she said only “Ya!” Then she continued with some unclear words and gestures. Her statement was long, and there were a lot of phrases and gestures that I had never seen before. Then, a boy who was playing in the same park looked at us curiously. His eyes looked as if we had been doing something strange. Moreover, another child saw the unusual communication that is our style. I thought we had to hurry home. However, my strongest feeling was that of being embarrassed, being in the line of sight of those children. In order to get home early, I badly pretended to understand her claim. But she didn’t move. She knew I didn’t understand or listen to her, really. The more I pretended to understand, the harder her gestures and her unclear words became. A few minutes later, I realized that I had to understand the content of her argument. First, I looked into her eyes. And I observed her gestures. Also, I remembered what she liked and the memories I had with her. She was circling her arms around her ― and alternating between them. Her face looked down. She repeated this movement over and over. Then, it came to me. It was ‘a pool’. I remembered she liked swimming. Then I asked her “Do you want to go swimming?” A big smile appeared on her face. I felt the moment our hearts connected.

Once, at a station, I was asked about the train by someone who seemed to be a foreign tourist. The language they spoke was neither Japanese nor English. We conversed with maximum gestures and few proper nouns. At first, I didn’t understand what they were saying, and I was scared by their expressions. However, the one moment when we understood each other, smiles appeared on their faces. ― It was the same with my cousin’s case.

Some people say they cannot understand someone else because the other person speaks in English. It’s true that the language barrier is huge. However, just because you have a conversation in Japanese, it doesn’t necessarily mean you can understand everything other people are thinking. I believe that the key to successful communication is not the language you use, but how much consideration you have for the other person. Different backgrounds may lead different forms of communication. However, putting yourself in the other person’s shoes and being considerate enable you to communicate with them. Therefore, I think that talking with someone who speaks another language and talking with a person with a disability are the same. When our hearts connect, a smile appears. Also, the harder it is to communicate and the longer it takes to reach heart-to-heart, the bigger this smile will become.

In recent years, Japan and the world have become rich in diversity, with an increasing number of people with disabilities and immigrants. Therefore, we need to communicate with various people with different backgrounds.

I also want to use this experience to communicate with a wide variety of people and be of help to someone.