Between Neon and Noise – What Tokyo Taught Me About New York

I remember the first time I stepped foot into Tokyo. For my entire life, I’d lived in New York, a city that never really sleeps; it just changes rhythm. I had grown used to it all: the one-dollar pizza slices, the garbage piled along the curbs, the yelling in that unmistakable New York accent, the subway musicians, and the car horns that almost sound like background music to the city itself. It was chaos, but it was familiar chaos.

Then, I landed in Tokyo. And everything I thought I knew about city life suddenly shifted.

The first thing I noticed was the light. Tokyo didn’t just glow; it radiated. Even at midnight, the city felt alive, as if the sun had simply decided to move underground and power the neon signs instead. People moved through the streets with quiet efficiency. No one shouted. No one jaywalked. And what stunned me most was that there wasn’t a single piece of trash on the ground. Not even a piece of gum.

I couldn’t stop comparing it to New York, but eventually, I realized something: both cities were telling stories; they just spoke different languages.

That’s what drew me to think about cities not just as places, but as living stories, each one revealing who we are through how we move, build, and belong.