Almost 2 weeks ago, while I was in Japan, I received news that my dear friend, Jon Homewood, had passed away. The loss sat heavily with me, and I needed time, quiet and spacious, to process it. Life has a way of reminding us, sometimes sharply, that it is short, fragile, and impossibly precious.
I met Jon 12 years ago in Tokyo. We bonded over movies, wandering the city in search of good food, good conversation, and those small moments that stay with you for years. Jon had ongoing health challenges, yet he approached life with a kind of stoic joy, an ease, a willingness to laugh, a refusal to let illness define him. And always, that unmistakable crisp British accent that made every joke a little funnier and every conversation feel instantly familiar.
After he moved up north and I eventually left Japan, we weren’t in touch as often. But it was one of those friendships where, whenever we did connect, it felt like no time had passed at all. The thread was always there, steady and unchanged, waiting for the next time one of us tugged on it.
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I installed a set of clear drawers recently to keep the things I reach for most: medication, supplements, those small daily essentials, in one visible, accessible place. My husband is always a little amused when I come home with yet another organizing tool, but for me, there’s something genuinely calming about creating visible order. Sliding those clear drawers into place and seeing everything arranged inside felt like a tiny exhale. It reminded me so much of Japan, where organizing isn’t just tidying, it’s a form of gentle care, a way of making life feel smoother and less overwhelming.
That small moment made me realize how much I rely on order to soothe my mind. Not perfection. Not a Pinterest-level aesthetic. Just the grounded, everyday comfort of things having a place, and me knowing where that place is. It’s amazing how seeing what I need, clearly, simply, quietly lowers the background noise in my mind.
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Every January, the world seems to hum with possibility. We buy planners with crisp, untouched pages, sign up for gym memberships, and declare bold promises: “This is the year I’ll finally get it right.”
There’s something intoxicating about that clean slate, the idea that we can reinvent ourselves overnight. I used to love that feeling. I’d write lists of goals so ambitious they felt like a new identity waiting to happen. But by this week, reality would creep in. The planner would sit unopened, the gym shoes untouched, and I’d feel that familiar sting of failure. Why is it so hard to keep resolutions? And why do they feel so heavy, even when they start with hope?
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There are moments when living abroad makes you feel unexpectedly and delightfully five years old again. A few weekends ago, mine happened in the middle of Costco. I was cruising past the giant bags of chips and industrial sized Nutella when something made me stop so abruptly that the person behind me had to brake: Chocorooms. Actual, honest to goodness, mushroom shaped Japanese chocolate biscuits. In my American Costco.
As a Belgian, I should probably be ashamed to admit how excited I got. Belgian chocolate standards are a bit like Belgian traffic rules, strict, precise, and deeply ingrained. And let’s be honest, Chocorooms are not that kind of chocolate. They are not rich artisanal pralines with glossy shells and delicate ganache fillings. They are cheerful little snack mushrooms that taste like childhood and convenience stores and the promise of a long train ride with too many treats. And that is exactly why I love them.
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Day 5 turned into a wonderful tour through my Tokyo network, with each meeting tied to a different part of my journey in Japan. I started the morning with Joe Pournovin in Mita, then headed to lunch with Gaz Monteath, followed by my very first visit to the Foreign Correspondents Club for coffee with Gary Bremerman. I wrapped up the day with another first, a visit to the Tokyo American Club to see Michael Case. It felt like revisiting all the paths that have shaped my work, friendships, and sense of belonging in Tokyo.
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This March, I returned to Tokyo for the first time in six years. It was a meaningful visit that included working onsite with a US client team at their Tokyo headquarters and meeting many clients and friends in the HR and TA community. Being back in the city, hearing concerns directly, and watching cross cultural interactions unfold in real time offered valuable reminders about how Japan’s HR environment continues to evolve.
Hybrid work is still finding its shape
While many global companies have settled into clear hybrid guidelines, teams in Tokyo are still balancing flexibility with long established expectations around presence and teamwork. Several HR leaders shared that employees appreciate remote options, but managers still worry about fairness, communication flow, and maintaining a sense of unity across the team.
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My last full day in Tokyo began with two meetings that felt like perfect bookends to my Japan journey. I finally met Ryoko Tokuoka from Mizuho Bank in person after years of collaborating during her secondment to New York, and later I met Mai Yamanaka from Link and Motivation Inc. (LMI), who is connected to my very first post MBA internship from my GLOBIS days. Both conversations reminded me how relationships in Japan do not fade with time. They deepen, evolve and often return in the most meaningful ways.
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A Japanese expat manager recently received a surprise during their annual performance review in the U.S.: a comment from their American team that they were “distant and hard to approach.” The manager was stunned. In Japan, maintaining formality and emotional restraint is often seen as professional. In the U.S., it can be interpreted as cold or disengaged.
This moment revealed a deeper issue: the feedback gap between jinji and U.S. HR.
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In a recent ruling, Mizuho Bank Ltd. successfully defended itself against a discrimination and retaliation lawsuit brought by a former U.S.-based vice president. While the legal outcome favored Mizuho, the case highlights a deeper issue that many global Japanese companies face: the perception of bias and the need for culturally intelligent HR practices. 最近の判決において、みずほ銀行株式会社は、米国拠点の元副社長による差別および報復に関する訴訟に対して、成功裏に自己防衛を果たしました。法的な結果はみずほ銀行に有利なものでしたが、このケースは、多くのグローバルな日本企業が直面しているより深刻な課題を浮き彫りにしています。それは、偏見の認識と、文化的知性を備えた人事施策の必要性です。
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