Living in Tokyo for my year abroad was a heavily contradictory experience. I arrived with a light footprint, determined to make my daily routine as sustainable as possible, aligning with the UN Sustainable Development Goals. I expected a hyper-efficient, green utopia. Instead, I found a fascinating paradox that tested my commitment to eco-friendly living every single day.
The paradox was most apparent in the aisles of my neighborhood supermarket. I was immediately struck by how meticulously Japanese society handles waste. The sorting systems are incredibly precise: plastic, paper, PET bottles, and combustible trash all have their own sacred bins and strict calendar days for collection. However, the sheer volume of plastic generated before that sorting was dizzying. I watched in disbelief as cashiers double-wrapped a single, individually sealed banana in another plastic bag.
Determined to promote sustainable habits, I made a game of finding the least packaged options. I bypassed the cucumbers wrapped in layer after layer of plastic in favor of loose produce at local yaoya (traditional greengrocers), and carried my own reusable tote bag everywhere. It was a small, daily rebellion against a systemic love affair with over-packaging.
But the real test of my environmental ethics happened under the neon glow of Shibuya.
Shibuya at night is an electric, swirling ocean of humanity. Beneath the massive digital billboards, the streets pulse with energy, music, and the remnants of nomikai (drinking parties). On wild nights out with fellow exchange students, the pristine order of Tokyo briefly fractured. As the trains stopped running, the side alleys occasionally accumulated abandoned convenience store bags, empty highball cans, and discarded food wrappers. It would have been incredibly easy to blend in, to drop my empty coke can on the curb and walk away like so many others did in the haze of the night.
Yet despite all that, I chose to carry my trash. On more than one occasion, my handbag rattled with empty aluminum cans and sticky plastic skewers as we hopped from karaoke bars to late-night ramen joints. Was it awkward to walk around with a jingling bag around my newly made friends? Yes, but to me, it was a non-negotiable boundary. Respecting the host country meant respecting its streets, even when the local crowd didn’t always observe their own rules. Eventually, I’d find a station recycling bin, carefully separating the metal from the plastic caps, I would have kept my promise to. contribute to a cleaner environment.
My year abroad taught me that consistent mindfulness must be at the core of each sustainable practice. By choosing less packaging, refusing single-use plastics, and keeping Shibuya’s streets clean even when no one was watching, I managed to keep my carbon footprint small in a city of millions. True sustainability, I realised, is what you do when you’re thousands of miles from home and absolutely nobody is checking.
https://www.iges.or.jp/en/publication_documents/pub/reportchapter/en/12341/PlasticAtlasAsia2022_en_WEB_1.pdf
https://sdgs.un.org/topics/sustainable-cit
