For a few years now, I’ve been advocating for welcoming the new year without a hangover.

I can’t remember for sure but I guess I was influenced by the quiet new year we experienced in Tokyo back in 2016. We were standing with the crowd at Zōjō-ji Temple, the one that’s at the foot of the Tokyo Tower, waiting for midnight and fireworks. Then, bells were rung and midnight came and went. A minute passed and I looked at my husband. “Maybe they’re just late setting them off?” He looked at me like I said the earth was flat. Turns out fireworks weren’t (still aren’t) a thing here—something that felt unreal to someone like me who grew up in the Philippines, where fireworks, street dance parties, and torotots were a must. While that was also fun, especially when I was younger and had more energy to party and outdrink the neighbors, I think it was on that quiet new year in Tokyo that I started appreciating the tranquility that can go with such a big celebration.

It was beautiful. People walking carefully toward the temples—there was no pushing and it didn’t feel scary being in a sea of people. Another tradition is watching the first sunrise (Hatsuhinode) and while I think it’s quite poetic, I have yet to muster the energy to wake up for something that early. Until Jan. 3, families take time to visit temples and shrines. Upon moving here, I learned the word for it: Hatsumode.

I woke up, fresh-faced on Jan. 1, the perfect start to my year. We did roll out of bed late and had a slow start to our day because that’s what holidays are for. We had no plans but ended up making our way to Nakano. Our friends Tanya and Ferds, who were visiting Tokyo with their daughter Laura, told us about it the day before. Might as well explore an area we’ve never been to. I had a hankering for merienda but lots of the small izakayas in the area were closed since it was still a holiday. We ended up in a KFC since I missed out on partaking of the Japanese Christmas tradition of having the special bucket. It’s a tradition born out of a genius marketing plan by one of the fastfood chain’s branch owners back in the ’70s. But I digress.

I sat there with chicken for merienda. They don’t do gravy in Japan but it was still flavorful. I started getting dizzy, which I found weird. I didn’t go drinking the night before. I looked up and the pendant lights were swinging.

Earthquake.

I looked at my husband and the rest of the room. The quake, quite strong, was taking a while. We sat there, looking around and waiting to take our cue from the locals. Should I go under the table? Everyone stayed calm. The cashiers kept taking orders. Diners did look up to check what was going on but they stayed on their seats and went about their day. The train station, which I could see from my seat, still had trains running. Maybe it wasn’t that strong by Tokyo standards and I guess this is what trusting in infrastructure looks like. And then, it stopped.

Everyone went about their day like nothing happened.

We hopped on a train to transfer to Akihabara, where more establishments should be open. On the train, initial news reports were in Japanese, leaving me clueless, and some announcements about suspended Shinkansen trains were made. I didn’t realize the gravity of what happened until the next day when footage from Ishikawa started making its way to the English news sites. Collapsed buildings, fires, a tsunami. A rising death toll.

Every Jan. 2, the emperor usually opens up the inner grounds of the palace to accommodate well-wishers and allow a rare glimpse of the royal family from the glass balcony. We went for that in 2016 but that was, understandably, cancelled this year. That evening, news of planes colliding in Haneda airport were all over social media. The incident involved a commercial plane from JAL and a Coast Guard plane carrying six passengers, headed to help with the earthquake relief in Western Japan. Everyone on the commercial flight were able to evacuate but five people on the Coast Guard plane perished.

I couldn’t help thinking about how the timing makes these two incidents sadder. From what I learned in my short stay here so far, the new year’s holiday is really one of the most important for the Japanese. Their tranquil holiday, often spent with family and partaking of tradition, was tainted by tragedy.

In these challenging times, it’s natural to feel a weight—a concern—about the year’s tone being set on a somber note. But as days pass, we can find solace in the strength of the human spirit.

As a newcomer to Tokyo, navigating through seismic shifts, there’s a feeling of helplessness and empathy that can only come from someone whose country is often plagued with natural disasters as well. I am reminded that every beginning carries its challenges, but it’s the hopeful spirit that propels us forward. In the face of uncertainty, the Japanese people’s ability to find strength in togetherness opens a more hopeful path.

This New Year, let’s embrace the lessons learned from the tremors of a new beginning, acknowledging the challenges while holding onto the optimism that defines the human spirit. Despite the unexpected twists, may our collective journey through the year be one of growth, resilience, and, ultimately, hope.