Yesterday I took the JLPT, the Japanese Language Proficiency Test. This Japanese language exam tests vocabulary, grammar, reading, and listening, and is offered at five levels. N5 is the easiest, N1 the hardest. After passing N4 more than a year ago and skipping the exam last year, it was finally time for N3. Was I ready? No, not really. I’d been a bit too busy with my new book and barely had any time to study. But I’d already paid, so I thought: let’s give it a shot. It’s multiple choice, so maybe I’d guess everything right.

The JLPT is held twice a year all across Japan, but also abroad. You can take the test in places like the Netherlands or the United States, too. In Japan, exams are generally hosted on a university campus, with one location per region. This time it was Aoyama Gakuin’s Sagamihara campus for me – convenient, as it’s very easy to reach from Hachioji. By now, this was the third Japanese university I’d seen from the inside. The first time was in Kokubunji (I didn’t pass then), and when I passed N4 it was on a campus in the middle of nowhere, only accessible by bus. Luckily, yesterday’s location was just a ten-minute walk from the station.

A JLPT day is a strange experience. A steady stream of people moves from the station towards the campus. Groups linger at every convenience store along the way, like loitering teens. Traffic controllers make sure everyone follows the route and crosses at the right spots. Once on campus, each student searches for their assigned classroom. N1 and N2 were held in the morning, the rest in the afternoon. My room, 203, was a large lecture hall with over a hundred people. Almost everyone was Asian: from Vietnam, the Philippines, Bangladesh, China, Korea – you name it. I think there was only one other white person in my room, and one black girl. Next to my room were about six more classrooms where N3 was being administered. This exam is kind of a big deal.

I take the JLPT for fun, but for others, their future depends on it. Some jobs only hire people with N2 or higher. Universities and follow-up programs also often have language requirements like that. In theory, you can start directly with N2 and don’t have to take N5, N4, and N3 first (I skipped N5 myself because I knew it would be too easy), but N2 is no joke. And N1… even people who, to me, sound fluent in Japanese sometimes take that one six times.

When I took N4, I was deeply annoyed by my fellow examinees. Talking, cheating, opening the question booklet before they were allowed to… one person even let their phone ring. There are rules for this, with yellow and red cards, but the proctors were far too lenient back then. No one was actually sent home.

Earlier this year it came to light that there had likely been fraud during the N2 exam. A suspiciously large number of candidates had submitted identical answer patterns, which led the organization to suspect that a test had been leaked and passed on to a location where the exam took place later. (As I mentioned above, the JLPT is also held in other countries, and because of time zones it can’t be administered everywhere at the exact same time.) As a result, the organization announced a zero-tolerance policy. And hell, they meant it.

Previously, your phone had to go into a plastic bag, but you were allowed to use it during breaks. This time? Absolutely not. It had to be completely off (not silent – off!), sealed in a paper envelope, placed under the desk, and you weren’t allowed to open it until instructed to do so by staff. All question booklets and answer sheets were also counted meticulously, to make sure no one smuggled anything out.

The test started with kanji and vocabulary. Because I’d had so little time to study, I knew my chances weren’t great. I decided not to linger too long on questions I didn’t know, and just guess “by feel.” From my classes, I already knew that this works better than statistics would suggest – after all this time in Japan, I’ve developed a kind of unconscious language instinct. To my surprise, though, I also genuinely knew quite a few questions. Shūten? Peko peko? No doubt about those.

Despite my “fuck it” attitude, I was still nervous. Or rather – nervous about the setting. A huge lecture hall, me sitting right at the front, my stomach acting up thanks to new medication… and if you leave the room to go to the bathroom during the test, you’re out. No coming back. In short, I felt trapped. My hands were shaking, my head felt light, and the slower the proctor sorted papers, the louder my thoughts went: JUST START ALREADY! But once the section began, I dropped straight into hyperfocus and didn’t come up for air until time was called.

Break one. Due to a counting error, everything had to be counted again, which caused a delay. When we were finally allowed to leave, I took my tumbler and a dorayaki (a Japanese cake with sweet bean filling) out of my bag. I’d bought it specifically for this day. For the second break, I had brought two slices of bread with strawberry jam. I know myself: hyperfocus burns through energy at warp speed, so I have to refuel aggressively. I shuffled out of the room like a zombie, heading toward the restrooms. A girl approached me. In broken Japanese she said, “I don’t feel very well. Can I buy your dorayaki?” I wish my zombie brain had answered more kindly, but… no. No you can’t. I really, really needed that thing. (And sorry, but maybe come prepared?)

The second section was grammar and reading – the longest part, featuring those horrible walls of text followed by a single, miserable question. Still, luck was on my side. One passage was about a new type of hotel: not a single large tower, but multiple small buildings spread across a village, aimed at people wanting to enjoy the countryside in a unique way. This nerd had just watched an episode of Japan Railway Journal about exactly that. Another text was about a father reading a book to kids at his daughter’s school. It wasn’t exactly the same thing, but I’m convinced my own experience teaching at Emma’s school helped here. One text was difficult, so I skipped it for the moment. In the end, I still had four unanswered questions when time was called. I quickly filled in some random answers: 4, 4, 4, 4. A 25% chance.

Break two. My phone was still sealed inside that brown envelope, so I had no idea what time it was. Earlier, someone had been sent home with a red card for returning late after a break, and that was not gonna happen to me. So I wolfed down my sandwich and sipped some tea in the doorway of the exam hall. (Food and drinks, of course, were forbidden inside.) A boy standing across from me checks his phone. Two proctors happen to walk by the door and instantly snap into action: “You – come with us.” Another guy is standing just around the corner, also on his phone. I try to warn him. “Put that thing away! It’s not allowed!” He ignores me. Seconds later, another proctor walks out. The guy is done.

Section three: listening. By now, I was absolutely exhausted, so I expect this to be my weakest score. The questions come rapidly, and if you miss one, or get stuck thinking “wait, what did that word mean again?”, you immediately miss the next. After nearly an hour, it was finally over. Well – almost. The final listening test turned out to be… listening to the organization. Booklets and answer sheets were collected. Then the announcement came over the loudspeaker: “You may now place your envelope on the desk.” A guy a few rows down immediately grabs it and takes out his phone. I’m not sure whether the problem was that he opened it too early, or that he’d never sealed the envelope properly in the first place. Either way: red card. One minute later, the proctor goes: “You’re finished. You may take your phones and go home.” (The entire room hesitated, nervously watching to see if anyone else dared touch their envelope first.)

So. That was N3. Did I pass? Maybe – but probably just barely not. Does it matter? Not really. I’ve gained a valuable experience, and I’m fairly sure that next time, I will pass.