On my first day at my first job in Japan, I arrived at work. Already nervous and nervous, one of my seniors asked me, “Can you ride a bicycle?” I was asked.

I’m a Filipino woman who has been living in Japan for four years now. I came to Japan right after graduating from school to start a new life and work. At first, I struggled with the language and culture, but little by little, I got used to it. One of the biggest challenges I faced in Japan was something I never expected—learning to ride a bicycle.

On my first day at work in Japan, I arrived at the office, nervous and excited. As soon as I got there, my boss asked me, “Can you ride a bicycle?” Without thinking, I confidently replied, “Of course!” But deep down, I was panicking. “Actually, I’ve hardly ever ridden a bicycle!” In the Philippines, we relied on motorcycles, jeepneys, and tricycles for transportation, so I never had many opportunities to ride a bike. But seeing everyone else commuting by bicycle, I figured I had no choice but to learn.

That afternoon, five of my coworkers gathered to teach me how to ride a bicycle near the office. They all rode effortlessly, circling around me as they showed off their skills, and gave me pointers like, “See, this is how you balance!” Watching them made me feel even more pressure. They looked so comfortable, like they’d been riding bikes since they were kids. Meanwhile, I was gripping the handlebars tightly, feeling my nerves grow.

“Bicycles are easy to ride!” I told myself, trying to build up my confidence as I placed my foot on the pedal. But reality hit hard. As soon as I pushed the pedal, the bike wobbled uncontrollably. Even though I held on to the handlebars with all my strength, my body swayed from side to side, almost tipping over. I was barely holding on, trying my best not to fall.

My coworkers cheered me on with encouraging smiles, saying, “Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it. Just take it slow!” Their support was helpful, but inside, I was thinking, “This is way harder than I thought…” It was a mix of embarrassment and frustration that was growing with every shaky pedal.

Eventually, I decided that I needed to practice alone. I didn’t want anyone watching me struggle or—heaven forbid—fall in front of them. So, I told my coworkers, “I’m going to practice by myself for a bit!” and headed off to a quiet road next to a broccoli field. The area was peaceful, with hardly any traffic, and I thought it would be the perfect place to practice without the pressure of people watching.

The gentle breeze felt nice as I sat back on the bicycle and began pedaling slowly. At first, I still wobbled a little, but gradually, I started to feel more balanced. “Hey, I think I’m getting the hang of this!” I thought, as I began to pedal with more confidence, pushing myself to go a little faster.

I was starting to feel good—maybe too good.

As the wind rushed past me and the world blurred slightly from the speed, I felt like I had finally mastered the art of bicycle riding. “I’m doing it! I’m riding a bike!” But just as I was basking in this newfound confidence, a steep downhill slope appeared ahead of me. Normally, this would be the moment to slow down and proceed with caution, but instead, I thought, “I can handle this! Let’s go!” And I charged forward, full speed ahead.

That’s when everything went wrong. As soon as I hit the slope, the bike picked up speed faster than I could control. The handlebars began shaking violently, and before I could even attempt to brake, it was too late. The curve in the road was approaching rapidly, and my bike started to swerve. “Oh no, this is bad!” I screamed internally as I lost my balance and crashed to the side.

The next thing I knew, I had launched myself headfirst into the broccoli field.

With a loud “THUD!”, I hit the ground, crashing into the soft green broccoli plants. The bike fell on top of me, pinning me down in the mud. The earthy smell of the soil and the feel of broccoli against my skin was surreal—I felt like I was in some kind of weird dream. But it wasn’t a dream, it was a very real, very embarrassing fall.

More than the pain, what really overwhelmed me was the feeling of absolute shame. I lay there, surrounded by broccoli, wondering, “What am I even doing here?” Luckily, no one had seen me fall, but the humiliation was enough to make me want to hide forever. After gathering myself, I managed to pull the bike off me and stand up, covered in dirt and bits of broccoli.

When I finally got out of the field, I was a complete mess. My clothes were caked in mud, and my hair was full of leaves and dirt. I looked like I had just crawled out of the earth. “I’m never riding a bike again,” I muttered to myself as I pushed the bike back toward the office.

Back at the office, my coworkers noticed my muddy appearance and asked, “Are you okay?” I forced a smile and replied, “Yeah, I’m fine!” But deep down, I was thinking, “Nothing about this is fine…” I felt like I had just survived a battle with the broccoli field.

From that day on, I didn’t completely lose my fear of bicycles, but at least I learned to ride one. And now, riding a bicycle has become part of my daily routine. That fall into the broccoli field became a pivotal moment in my bicycle-riding journey. Looking back, it was that humiliating experience that made me the cyclist I am today. Every time I hop on my bike to commute, I think about that day and laugh quietly to myself, grateful for how far I’ve come.