Three hours before my flight home, I was standing in one of Tokyo’s busiest stations realizing something terrifying: I might not be leaving Japan at all. My passport was gone. So was my MacBook. And with it, an entire month of work, memories, and plans.
It was my last day in Japan. The trip was supposed to end gently, wrapped in laughter and goodbyes. After spending more than a month working onsite, I was heading back from Tokyo to Tsukuba for our farewell gathering. Manas was hosting it one final evening to sit together, talk about everything we had built, and close this chapter properly.
Instead, Akihabara Station turned into the place where time froze.
Somewhere between platforms, my bag disappeared. At first, I convinced myself it had to be nearby. I retraced my steps, checked every corner, every bench, every memory from the last few minutes. Then denial gave way to panic. Without my passport, there would be no flight. Without my MacBook, months of work would vanish. Without money, I would be stranded.
The only thing I still had was my iPhone.
With shaking hands, I opened Find My. The dot appeared and then started moving. My MacBook wasn’t stationary. It wasn’t stolen either. It was on a metro train, moving farther away from me with every passing second.
We tried chasing it. Literally. Platform to platform, station to station. But the location lagged just enough to keep us behind. Every time we arrived, the train had already left. Time slipped through our fingers while hope followed a blinking dot on a screen.
Eventually, we ran to the station staff. Words failed us. The language barrier turned urgency into confusion until Yoshiko Oda stepped in. Calm, steady, and reassuring, she explained everything in Japanese. Procedures began. Forms were filled. The situation finally felt acknowledged. Hope was small, but it existed.
I checked Find My again.
The dot stopped.
Saitama Station.
There was no debate. No planning. We just moved. Tokyo to Saitama, hearts racing the entire way, imagining every possible ending. And then, almost unreal in its simplicity, I got my passport and MacBook back untouched.
Relief hit before understanding did.
Only later did it sink in that I had missed the farewell. Something Manas and Betty had carefully planned, something I genuinely wished I could have stayed for. But with a flight to catch the next day, I had no choice but to let that moment go.
What stayed with me, though, was something deeper than a missed dinner.
This onsite experience showed me what it feels like when people care about the fundamentals. The stay was thoughtfully arranged. Food was never a worry. Commute and logistics were handled. The only thing expected of us was focus to build, to learn, and to show up fully.
Working in person, collaborating every day, and standing together during demo day taught me more in one month than I anticipated. Not just about work, but about trust, ownership, and what real teamwork looks like when things don’t go as planned.
I’m deeply grateful to Manas Kala, PhD, Betty Lala, PhD, and Anh Ngo for trusting me with this opportunity, and to Yoshiko Oda and Aman Tyagi for stepping in when everything went sideways.
This wasn’t just a trip to Japan.
It was a reminder that even in moments of chaos, kindness shows up. Systems work. People help. And sometimes, the place you almost lose everything is the place that teaches you what truly matters.
Japan really said,
“One last plot twist before you leave.” 😭
PS: This photo was taken after I finally got my bag back from the lost & found counter.
Original story by:https://www.linkedin.com/posts/idleshubh_i-almost-lost-everything-in-japan-on-my-activity-7406656995409399808-uLAw?utm_medium=ios_app&rcm=ACoAACebe_4B2-Mub2ThDgrkJEubU-YFbSz266o&utm_source=social_share_send&utm_campaign=copy_link
