Living in the UK — My Journey to “English I Can Live With”

 

Introduction

I now live in the UK.
In a terraced house—quintessentially British—shared with my husband and son, I work from home while managing nursery drop-offs and daily chores to keep our life running.

Living here has made me constantly re-evaluate what it means to live using English.
The English I studied in Japan just wasn’t enough. I’ve had to face what I now call “English I can live with”—a kind of English I’m learning through experience, not textbooks.

As I’ve settled into life here, I’ve come to see culture, conversation, and language itself from an entirely different perspective.
So today, I want to write a little about the “me” who lives here now, and what life in the UK really feels like.

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When I First Moved to the UK

When I first moved here, I was nine months pregnant.
We lived in a detached house—not the one I’m in now—with my father-in-law and my husband.

On weekends, my father-in-law would take me to the market. It became a routine: browsing through the butcher, the fishmonger, secondhand toy stalls, gardening corners, and baked goods.
(My husband worked weekdays, so he often couldn’t join us, which was a shame.)

Looking back, I didn’t feel much of a language barrier during that time.
I rarely went out alone, and I always had a native speaker by my side.

That said, I still struggled to understand things.
I had studied American English my whole life, and I thought I was familiar with British English too—I’d watched enough British films and listened to enough British music.
It’s the same language, right? I figured I’d get used to it quickly.

But once I had to use it in daily life, it felt like something entirely different.
Different vocabulary. Different accents.
And then there’s the sarcastic tone, the dry humor, the subtle jabs that often go unspoken but heavily implied—it took me a long time to catch on.

When we moved from my father-in-law’s house to another town about an hour away, I felt like I’d stepped into a different country.
The accent and word choice were totally different—again.

I realized that the “British English” I’d finally gotten used to was just one small part of a much broader picture.

I’ve always had a good ear, and I adapted to the accent fairly quickly.
But the habits from years of learning American English were deeply ingrained—and took time to unlearn.

It must be a bit like someone from Tokyo suddenly moving to Okinawa or Aomori.
Familiar, but not quite the same.

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A Taxi Call I’ll Never Forget

One moment I’ll never forget happened shortly before my son was born.
I needed to book a taxi for a specific time to meet my husband, but neither he nor my father-in-law was available that day.

“I’ll do it myself,” I said, and decided to call.

The first company—hung up on me the moment I said, “I’d like to book a taxi.”

The second—mumbled something I couldn’t catch, then barked, “When? Where?”
I answered, only to be cut off with a sharp, “Nope!”

Already flustered, I called a third.
This time, a woman answered. I felt a bit relieved—until she snapped:

“Look, where?! What time?! Can you just speak properly?”

I hadn’t been shouted at like that since high school, when a football coach randomly scolded me at the school gate.

I found myself asking, “Did I say something wrong?”

My friends in Japan later told me that just saying that was already impressive.
Apparently, most people wouldn’t have even managed that.

Suddenly, the tone on the other end softened.

She didn’t answer my question, but she did say:

“Right… okay. So, what time and where? Name?”

I gave my husband’s name and added, “He’s my husband.”
And just like that, her attitude flipped.

His name was unmistakably British, and I guess that made everything click for her.

“Oh, right. I’ll have someone there at that time. See you then!”

After I hung up, I cried.

It wasn’t exactly racism.
But it didn’t feel good.

Between the stress of being heavily pregnant and the sting of that exchange, I made a quiet vow:

“I’m never booking a taxi by phone again.”

It was childish, maybe. But I was hurt.
So now, in our household, taxi bookings are officially my husband’s department.

 

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Is It Racism? Where’s the Line?

 

When people hear stories like this, reactions vary.
Some say, “That’s clearly racism.”
Others might say, “Maybe you’re reading too much into it.”

Even within international marriages, I often hear that cultural differences lead to misunderstanding.
I’m sure my own parents experienced that too.
(I talk more about my background in earlier posts.)

It felt like discrimination. But was it?
That question is always hard for me.

Growing up as someone of mixed identity, I’ve lived in the “in-between” space of language and culture for a long time—both in Japan and now here.
Because I’m so tuned in to language, I probably pick up on things others wouldn’t.

I remember working part-time at a shop in Japan, and a foreign customer walked in.
He politely said, in broken but clear Japanese:

“Konnichiwa. Nikuman, hitotsu. Onegaishimasu.”

Still, the cashier panicked and whispered, “It’s English!”
From that moment, it was like she couldn’t hear him anymore.

Even when the words are Japanese, just seeing someone who looks or sounds foreign can switch off someone’s ability—or willingness—to listen.

Is that racism?
Maybe not.
But it still creates a wall. A real one.

So when I think back to that taxi call, maybe it wasn’t racism.
Maybe the person on the phone just wasn’t ready to listen.

Still, what lingers is that coldness, that sting, and the sense of being shut out.
And that is what can feel like discrimination—even if it wasn’t meant that way.

So I’ve learned to ask myself this:

If I were a native English speaker, would the same thing have happened?

That question helps me see where the boundary might lie.
Maybe it’s a form of self-protection, but it gives me clarity.

It’s about whether people see you as “foreign” or just as “a person.”
That’s where the real line is, I think.

Still, there are moments where I honestly don’t know how to feel.

 

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My Lifeline

 

These days, English isn’t something I wish I could speak — it’s something I have to speak.
It’s become a lifeline.

If I can’t speak it, I can’t live. I can’t ask for help. I can’t begin anything.

It’s like water or electricity — something I need just to function.

That sense of urgency became even stronger when we moved house, and my son started attending nursery twice a week.

Of course, English is still something I study.
There’s no finish line.
Even if you become fluent, life keeps throwing new situations at you, and you have to keep adapting.

But studying isn’t enough. Not anymore.

“Being correct” isn’t what matters most.
It’s how you make your words reach someone.

I’ve come to realize this more and more — and my husband has said something to that effect, too:

“In Japan, people expect you to explain everything once, clearly and efficiently, and get the best outcome right away.
But that doesn’t work here.
In the UK, it’s more about being patient — finding ways to express what you want little by little, without annoying the other person.
That’s the real skill.”

In Japan, things that take half a day can take days or even weeks here.
And now that I’ve lived through that, I’ve come to accept it — even those taxi companies that hang up on you? I get it now. (Kind of. Sort of. )

It’s not about being right. It’s about getting through.
If you want people to respond, your delivery matters.

But here’s the question:

I’m not a native speaker — so how am I supposed to learn that kind of skill?

And...

Will there ever be a day when I don’t have to carry that weight around?

I don’t have the answers yet.
But I ask myself those questions all the time.

 

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What’s Normal Here Isn’t Normal There

 

In Japan, everything was designed to save time and make life more efficient.
Frozen side dishes for bento lunches, furikake seasonings for rice balls — all kinds of clever little helpers made daily life smoother, even during busy mornings.

But in the UK, these “small conveniences” are hard to come by.
(Not saying that as an insult — I promise! )

There’s barely a concept of packed lunches here, so of course the products to support that culture don’t exist.

Since moving here, I’ve come to realize just how valuable those pre-portioned frozen foods were.

And perhaps even more surprising: the houses themselves.

Sockets with open gaps.
Sinks and bathtubs that drain... straight into the garden.
Crooked walls.
No screens on windows.

Houses over 100 years old are still very much in use — and often preferred.
I’ve even heard people say, “Better a hundred-year-old house than a new one — more reliable.”

You might think, “That’s just your house, right?”
But no — many of the homes I’ve seen here had features that would never even occur to someone in Japan.

The house we shared with my father-in-law, for example, was in a great location and had a beautiful garden — and even that house had its share of surprises.

Over time, all of these British “norms” started to layer themselves into my life.
And slowly, my own senses began to shift and adjust — not just in language, but in how I saw the world around me.

What’s normal there isn’t normal here.
It should be obvious, but somehow, it still catches you off guard.

 

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Things I Left Behind Along the Way

 

Back in Japan, I wouldn’t say I was especially tidy —
but I did clean regularly and kept things reasonably hygienic.
You could say I had an average sense of cleanliness for someone raised in Japan.

No one ever called me a neat freak.
I was just... normal.

But living in the UK, I’ve realized something:
What I once thought of as “basic standards” were actually pretty high-level.

And that’s probably thanks to what I’d now call Japan’s “cleanliness education.”
From a young age, we’re naturally taught — at school and at home — how to clean, stay hygienic, and maintain shared spaces.

Honestly, it’s something Japan should be proud of.

And yet, even with all that training, I’ve had to let go of a few things since moving here.
(Yes — I’m laughing as I say this.)

For example:
It’s completely normal here for service workers to walk right onto the carpet with their shoes on.
You can ask friends or family to take their shoes off, sure —
but people coming to work on your house? Nope. They just walk right in.

In rainy England, there was one day I remember clearly:
A seasoned contractor showed up, boots soaked from the downpour, and walked straight through the house — across the carpet — as if it were nothing.

At first, I was horrified.
But eventually, I just... stopped caring.

If I worry about everything, I won’t survive here.

That’s the mindset I learned — and it made life a lot easier.

Another major shift: humility.

In Japan, lowering yourself a little earns you trust.
It’s seen as modesty. Grace.

But overseas? That kind of humility often sounds... negative.

Phrases like

“You’re better than me” or “I still have so far to go”
are not interpreted as humble — they come off as lacking confidence.

It’s something I didn’t fully understand until I started living abroad.

There are a lot of things I brought with me from Japan —
and over time, quietly left behind.

 

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A New Measuring Stick

 

Since moving to the UK, I feel like I’ve been slowly growing a new kind of “measuring stick” inside myself.

The one I brought from Japan — my internal sense of what’s normal or acceptable — didn’t work here.
Trying to use it in the UK just made everything harder for me.

So I began building a new version of myself.
A version that could fit into this environment —
not by changing who I am, but by adapting with care and patience.

And little by little, that new “measuring stick” has started to take shape.

I don’t think this is something unique to the UK.
Every country has its own culture and rules.
Its own pace, its own logic.

If we choose to live in a place, then we also choose to accept that we’ll have to change —
to bend, to adjust, to find new ways to exist within that space.

To me, that’s what real respect and understanding look like.

It’s not easy.
Some days, it’s exhausting.
But I believe that’s what it means to truly live in another country.

 

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What It Means to “Speak English”

 

Back when I was a student — and even when I was still living in Japan —
I thought “being able to speak English” meant mastering grammar, memorizing phrases, and being able to say them correctly.

If I could just say the phrases smoothly, that would be enough.
Or so I believed.

And honestly, maybe that’s true — for some situations.

But English you can live with?
That’s something else entirely.

I’ve learned that the hard way, here in the UK.

Tone.
Timing.
Word choice.
The mood of the situation.
The relationship between people.
The accent. The pronunciation.

Even a single word can fail to land unless you’re handling all of those elements.

The English I learned in Japan?
It works when the listener wants to communicate with you.

I only realized this after living here —
the kind of English I learned was built for willing conversations.

It works when you're traveling — when you’re in spaces where people are open to foreign visitors,
where they’re ready to listen.

But real life?
It doesn’t work the same way.

In daily life —
at local shops, restaurants, hospitals, appointments, house viewings —
you can’t rely on the listener to “meet you halfway.”
Especially once you’re outside of big cities.

You may think you’re being clear — and still not be understood.
Worse, your desire to connect may not even be acknowledged.

So much depends on how you speak.
If you don’t know the rules, your words won’t reach anyone.

In some ways, this has been true in Japan too.
But living in the UK has forced me to re-learn language from a whole new angle.

Maybe... I was born under that kind of star.
(A star with complicated language karma. )

Every day in the UK feels like a second life.
I’ve been rebuilding my words, my values, and my way of seeing things from scratch.

But now, there are more and more moments when I find myself enjoying that process.

And that makes me feel lucky.
Truly.

I hope — from the bottom of my heart —
that the many foreigners living in Japan are finding their own moments like that too.
That somehow, they’re learning to enjoy the strange and difficult and beautiful process of adjusting, just like I am.

 

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In Closing

 

The frustration of not being understood.
The sadness of not being able to say what I really meant.
The shock of having my “normal” completely fall apart in a foreign land.

None of that can be wrapped up neatly as a “good experience.”
And yet —
those moments are undeniably shaping something inside me.

Even now, speaking English doesn’t guarantee that everything goes well.
In fact, the more I understand, the more I notice —
the more I feel things I wish I didn’t.

But maybe that’s exactly why…

I’ve come to care more about how I express things than simply whether they “get through.”
I’ve come to value naturalness over “correctness.”
And I think I’ve slowly grown into that shift.

All my life, I’ve lived between languages and cultures,
stuck in the in-between —
always trying to make sense of both sides.

But now?

The “me” who grew up in Japan,
and the “me” who lives in the UK —
They still don’t fit together perfectly.

And yet, I’ve started to find peace in the mismatch.
To gently enjoy the awkwardness, the confusion, the contradictions.

To live with them.

Learning “English you can live with” isn’t just about memorizing words.
It’s about choosing to face the people who live in this country —
to meet them where they are.

It’s not a goal you can reach.
It’s more like a journey with no final stop.

But maybe —
just maybe —
it’s the kind of journey that can become someone’s starting point.

Thank you so much for reading.

— From The Nihongland Den

 

 

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▼▼▼ 日本語版はこちらから ▼▼▼

イギリスで暮らすということ――「暮らしていける英語」に出会うまで

 

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【はじめに】

 

今、私はイギリスで暮らしています。
夫と息子と暮らす、いかにもイギリスらしい「テラスハウス（家が左右に連なった長屋のような建物）」の一角で、在宅で仕事をしながら、子どもをナーサリーに送り迎えし、日々の生活をまわしています。

日本にいた頃とは違い、「英語を使って暮らしていく」ということの意味を、毎日の生活の中で何度も問い直すようになりました。
日本で勉強してきた英語では太刀打ちできない、「暮らしていける英語」という感覚――それを身をもって知る日々です。

移住してから生活に馴染んでいけばいくほど、異国での暮らしや言葉を通しての対話を、まったく新しい視点で見るようになってきました。
今回は、そんな「今」の私と、イギリスでの生活について書いてみようと思います。

 

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【イギリスに引っ越してきたばかりの頃】

 

引っ越してきた当初、私は妊娠9か月で、今住んでいるテラスハウスではなく、戸建ての家で義理の父と夫と一緒に暮らしていました。

その頃は週末になると義父にマーケットへ連れて行ってもらい、肉屋さん、魚屋さん、セカンドハンドのおもちゃ屋さん、園芸コーナー、焼き菓子などを見て回るのが恒例でした。
（夫は平日休みの仕事だったので、なかなかタイミングが合わず残念でした。）

その生活の中では、あまり「英語が通じない」と感じることはなかったなと、今思えば思います。
そもそも一人で出かける機会が少なくて、ネイティブスピーカーである誰かがそばにいてくれたからかもしれません。

それでも、聞き取れないことはよくありました。
私はずっとアメリカ英語を勉強してきていましたが、イギリスの映画や音楽が好きでよく見たり聞いたりしていたのでイギリス英語の響きはわかっていたつもりだったし、同じ英語だから少し慣れれば大丈夫だろうと安易に考えていました。

でも、いざ日常生活でそれを「使う」となると、全然別物のように感じました。
単語も違えば、アクセントも違う。
そして、冗談の言い方や皮肉の混じった“嫌味文化”のような表現も多く、何を言われているのか、ニュアンスをつかむのにとても時間がかかりました。

昨年、義父の家から車で1時間程度の距離にある別の街に引っ越しをしたときは、まるで違う国に来たのかと思うほど使われている英語の発音もアクセントも違くびっくりしました。

やっと慣れてきたイギリス英語は、イギリス英語という言葉の中のほんの1つだったんだと思い知らされました。

もともと耳はいい方で発音の仕方にはすぐに慣れましたが、それでも日本で学んできたアメリカ英語の癖がなかなかしみついていたので、それを無くしていくのには時間がかかりました。

東京で生まれ育った人が、いきなり沖縄や青森で暮らし始めたら、きっとこんな感じなのかもしれません。

 

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【忘れられない、タクシーの電話予約】

 

そんな中、忘れられない体験があります。
それは、息子が生まれる少し前のこと。どうしても夫の帰宅タイミングに合わせてタクシーを予約する必要があったのに、夫も義父もその日は頼れなかった。

「大丈夫！私が予約するよ」と、自分でタクシー会社に電話をかけることにした。

一社目。「タクシーをお願いしたいんですが」と言った瞬間、ブチっと切られた。
二社目。同じように話し始めると、ぶつぶつと何か言われ、「いつ？どこ？」とまくし立てられた。
答えた瞬間、「ムリ！」とだけ言われてまた切られた。

すでに心がザワザワしていたけれど、なんとか三社目へ。
三社目は女性だったので少し安心した。でも、その人も強い口調で言ってきた。

「だから、どこ！何時！ちゃんと話してくれる？」

怒鳴られたのは、高校2年生のとき、なぜか正門前でサッカー部の顧問に怒鳴られた以来だった。
その時、私は思わず聞き返した。

「私、何か悪いこと言いましたか？」

――これを言えること自体がそもそもすごい、と日本に住む友人にはあとで笑われた。（笑）

その瞬間、電話口のトーンがふっと変わった。
私の質問への答えはもらえなかったが、

「あぁ、そう。じゃあ何時にどこね。名前は？」

夫の名前を伝え、「私の夫です」と言った途端、態度が180度変わった。

夫の名前は、どこからどう聞いても英語圏の名前・苗字だったので、判断しやすかったのかもしれない。

「ああ、それならその時間にそこで待ってるわね。じゃ、またあとで！」

電話を切った後、私は悔しさで涙が出た。

別に「差別だ」と言いたいわけではない。でも、けっしていい気持ちではなかった。
臨月の情緒不安定と重なって、私はそのとき心に決めた。

「二度とイギリスのタクシーは電話で予約しない。」

ふてくされた子どものような決心だったけれど、
そのくらい感情的に傷ついた私がいたのは事実です。

我が家では、それ以来タクシーの予約は夫の管轄になりました。

 

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【差別って？境界線ってどこ？】

 

この手の話をしたり聞いたりすると、
「それは差別だ」と思う人もいれば、「それは勘違いじゃない？」と感じる人もいると思います。

実際、国際結婚をしている夫婦の間でも、こうした感覚や視点の違いでたびたびすれ違いが起きるとよく聞きます。
私の両親も、きっとそうだったと思います。
（※私の生い立ちなどについては、いくつか前の記事に書いてあります）

確かに、差別のように見えるかもしれない。
でも、本当に“差別”なのか――そこが、いつも私にはとても難しい。

ミックスとして、“言葉の溝”の中で生きてきた私は、日本でも似たような場面をたくさん経験もしたし見てきました。
言葉に敏感だったからこそ、見えてしまったのかもしれません。

たとえば昔、バイトをしていた店でのこと。
外国人のお客さんがカタコトの日本語でレジのスタッフに
「コンニチハ。ニクマン、ヒトツ。オネガイシマス」
と丁寧にいっていたにもかかわらず、

店員が「英語来た！」とパニックになって、
その瞬間からまったく聞き取れなくなってしまう――
そんな場面を、何度も目の当たりにしました。

たとえ相手の言葉が日本語だったとしても、
見た目や声の響きで「英語だ！どうしよう！」と思った瞬間、
もうその人の声が聞こえなくなってしまう現象が日本では多くあります。

それって、差別でしょうか？
でも、結果として「通じない」という壁は、そこに確かに生まれてしまう。

だからこそ、
あのタクシー予約での出来事も、もしかしたら単なる差別じゃなかったのかもしれない。
相手が「聞く準備」をしていなかっただけ、という可能性もある。

そんなことを考える自分がいるんです。

でも、聞いてもらえなかった側に残るのは、
やっぱり冷たさと悔しさ、そして違和感だけ。

そこから差別という言葉に繋がっていってしまう事もあるのかもしれない。

だからそういう残念なことがあった時はまず冷静に、

もし私がイギリスのネイティブスピーカーだったら、今と同じことは起きたのか？

そう考えてみるようにしている。

そうすると「差別」っていうもの境界線ってどこにあるのか、見えてくる気がするからです。（傷ついた自分への気休めなのかもしれないが）

自分自身を「外国人」とみるか「人」として見るか　

私はそこに境界線があると思っています。

でも、それでもどう受け止めたらいいのか分からない時が今でも時々起こります。

 

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【ライフライン】

 

今の私にとって、英語は“話せたらいい”というレベルのものではなくなりました。
もう完全に、ライフライン。
話せなきゃ、暮らせない。頼れない。何も始まらない。

水や電気と同じ。ないと“生きていけない”。

特に、引っ越しをしたり、息子が週2でナーサリー（保育園のような就学前施設）に通うようになってから、その感覚はさらに強まりました。

もちろん今でも、英語は学びの対象です。
終わりなんてないし、どんなに話せるようになっても、暮らしていれば毎日がアップデートの連続。
でも、それでも、学ぶだけじゃ足りない。

「正しさ」より、「届かせ方」のほうがずっと大事。
それは日々実感しているし、夫にも何度かこう言われたことがあります。

「日本では1回で全部説明して、それを相手が理解して、最短で最善の結果を引き出すのが当たり前。
でもイギリスで同じことをやろうとすると、むしろうまくいかない。
こっちでは、いかに相手にウザがられずに、自分の望みが少しずつ確実に叶うように話せるか。
忍耐なんだよ。」

日本なら半日で終わるようなことが、イギリスでは数日〜数週間かかることなんてザラにあります。
電話を一方的に切るタクシー会社があるなら、それもまあ納得…と、今では思えるようになりました（笑）。

「正しさ」より、「届かせ方」。
相手を動かすには、自分の伝え方がカギになる。

じゃあネイティブスピーカーでもない私は、どうやってそのスキルを身につければいいの？
いつかそんなことに心を痛めずにすむ日は来るの？

――そんな問いと向き合う日々が、今も続いています。