ABOUT ME: a condensed, but still very long story of who I am

I moved from Japan to Singapore when I was one years old — a city small in size but bursting with ambition. My childhood was defined by structure and certainty: a safe neighborhood, a tightly run education system, and the quiet hum of a nation always striving for excellence. From the age of three, I began violin and piano lessons, small hands tugging at keys and strings long before I understood why practice mattered. Classical music, I believe, planted the first seeds of my love for art, though at the time I could not fully savor nor comprehend it; it had become just another benchmark to meet. School demanded focus, and it was ingrained in me early that success was measured in exam scores and that competition was the air everyone breathed.

Singapore also offered a window into multiple cultures at once. Being the sole Japanese student among my Singaporean classmates created a layered sense of identity — straddling two cultures, never fully at home in either, yet learning to draw strength from both. I grew up part observer, part participant, always consciously and unconsciously negotiating where I fit. Through this constant balancing act, I discovered that to belong is to adapt, and this adaptability quietly became my superpower. Sports added another dimension of growth: I ran track and field, played touch rugby, and built stamina and resilience. Together, music, academics, and athletics taught me discipline, focus, and balance, nurturing the grounding I needed to carry my multifaceted identity into the world.  

Though ethnically Japanese, Japan was not home to me. When I left for university in Nagoya, Japan, I brought with me my adaptability, but nothing fully prepared me for the reverse culture shock. The streets of Nagoya buzzed with order, silence, and efficiency, but beneath it ran invisible rules — when to speak, when not to, what to say to whom. At first, I felt too foreign to blend in (an irony, given that I look like everyone else), but gradually, I carved out my own space in friendships and in the pursuit of my dream of working in entertainment. I improved my Japanese, learned to read the subtext, and discovered beauty in restraint. Where Singapore prized efficiency, Japan taught me patience and how to cultivate identity in subtlety.

Before graduation, I spent a brief but formative year in Kentucky. Small-town America stood in stark contrast to the cosmopolitan rhythms of Singapore and Nagoya that I was used to, yet it was here that I was reminded that belonging is created, not given, and that home is not defined by geography but by the people with whom you share connection, trust, and love. It was also in Kentucky that I took acting classes for the very first time, sparking a journey that would transform how I saw myself, my creativity, and my place in the world.

From Kentucky, I moved to New York City (in 2020!) for graduate school in acting at the world-renowned Actors Studio Drama School — an experience that forever altered my life. Loud, chaotic, endlessly competitive, New York demanded that I stand out. But beyond the intensity of the city, studying acting gave me something I had long felt like I had lost: my creativity. After so many years defined by discipline and measurable achievement, acting became a spiritual lens through which I could explore myself fully. Each role, each play, became a mirror, reflecting aspects of myself I had not yet seen or grappled with. It was in those moments, on stage or in rehearsal, that I felt truly free — alive in a way that nothing else had ever matched. Acting rekindled my love for storytelling, and through it, I witnessed the depth, fragility, and power of human connection. New York tested my resilience and broke my heart many times — rent was high, the industry cutthroat, immigration policies uncertain, and the pace relentless — but it also gave me boldness, independence, and a profound sense of purpose, teaching me that daring to be seen is in itself a form of liberation.

In the summer of 2024, I returned to Tokyo, but coming back was more than a geographical move — it was a psychological one. I was no longer a student trying to fit in; I was someone who had lived in multiple cultural worlds and had the ability to weave them together. At first, the adjustment felt strange (and, in many ways, it still does), but I am learning to harness the strengths I have been fortunate to develop, both as a professional and as a human navigating through the world. Now, I work as a theatre producer (read: corporate employee) in Tokyo and continue to pursue acting. The chase is long, and the path is never linear, but I am choosing to embrace the unknown, find joy in the journey, and remembering to smell the roses along the way.

As an actor, I am drawn to strong, complex female characters who hold both light and darkness within them, and to narratives that are at once poetic and authentic. I strive not only to entertain through laughter and fun, but also to lead audiences into the depths of humanity — places where empathy is born. I am committed to telling diverse stories with diverse people, creating work that includes, uplifts, and connects. Acting remains the space where I feel most alive; nothing would make me happier than to continue sharing that aliveness with the world.