From Tokyo’s Corporate World to the Tibetan Plateau: The Purification of the Soul
After graduating from university, I had a clear plan: spend three years in a major corporation to learn Japan’s corporate culture, move on to a start-up to gain management experience, and eventually establish my own company.
Though I applied for a technical position, HR placed me in sales. I thought, “It’s only three years—sales will help me grow.” The first six months were training, with lectures, practice, and weekend barbecues that felt like returning to student life.
Assigned to Tokyo Sales, I found myself in a department of hundreds, mostly middle-aged men; women were less than ten percent, often treated as ornaments without a voice. One supervisor, nearing fifty, bragged endlessly about past glories and squandered fortunes on lottery tickets. Another was unkempt, foul-smelling, and crude. I endured with a forced smile, drawing on patience learned in hostessing jobs.
Despite being a rookie, I was given the largest client in eastern Japan. I accompanied them on factory tours, drank at endless dinners, and collapsed in my hotel room after ensuring the customer was satisfied. Taiwanese clients demanded my company during trips to Tokyo, even asking me to escort them to Shibuya nightclubs. Acting as interpreter between them and heavily made-up hostesses felt like stepping into a horror film.
In a corporation of this scale, orders depended on brand trust, not sales skill. Pricing and production were decided by the factory; sales merely relayed messages. My performance was strong, yet I doubted my worth. I turned to the writings of Confucianism, Taoism, and Buddhism, seeking wisdom. Fascinated by Tibet as a Buddhist sanctuary, I planned a trip during vacation. Fearing to go alone, I traveled with a small business owner I met online. In his thirties, already graying from overwork, he listened as I spoke of Laozi’s “Wu Wei.” But at the hotel, with only one room booked, he forced himself on me despite my resistance, leaving me with a deeper wound.
Snow-capped peaks and vast grasslands reflected in mirror-like lakes—heaven felt within reach. Tibetan pilgrims, prostrating along the road, wore tattered clothes but carried eyes of crystal clarity. I wondered: could my soul, trapped in a tainted body, still bloom into a pure lotus? Perhaps true liberation lies in seeing through joy and sorrow, letting go, and ending life quietly under the blue lamp of the Buddha.
