I’m a pretty practical person. Romance isn’t really my thing, and when François asked me a few days ago if I knew when his birthday was, I was off by five days. (He’s the same way—last year, he wasn’t even in the country for my birthday—so luckily, no hard feelings.) I was never really into the idea of marriage. I don’t want kids, I don’t want a big party, and I don’t wear rings. And yet, today, we got married.

There was no proposal (I don’t like surprises either), but we talked about it from time to time. When I moved in with François, for example. When I was once again stressed for weeks over a visa renewal, with the government checking my financial records and everything. And when François reached his ten-year mark in Japan and became eligible to apply for Permanent Residency. At some point, we decided: As soon as he gets his PR, we’ll get married. François thought it would take a year to a year and a half, but this past January, just seven months after submitting his application, the long-awaited postcard arrived in the mail.

To get married as a foreigner in Japan, there’s quite a bit of paperwork involved. On the surface, it sounds simple: you go to the city hall with the marriage form, filled out by the couple and two witnesses, along with a permission letter from your respective embassies, the so-called Certificate of No Impediment.

Permission? Yes, your country’s embassy needs to confirm that you’re legally free to marry and not secretly already married to someone else. And how do you get this letter? Well, got a minute?

For the Netherlands, it’s actually pretty straightforward. You email the Dutch embassy in Tokyo a copy of your passport, proof of residence in Japan (which you can print at a convenience store), an extract from the Register of Non-Residents (which you can request online via DigiD and is sent by mail), and a copy of your partner’s passport. According to the embassy’s website, it takes about ten days to process this certificate, but mine was sent out the very next day—along with a cute little card.

But then the French. My god.

First of all, they needed everything on paper. The same documents I had to submit, plus our birth certificates. I was supposed to be able to request mine online, but the Leidschendam municipality’s website was being a pain, so I just called them instead. The certificate was sent out the next day and arrived in Japan about a week later. François’ birth certificate could be requested online, but it took two and a half weeks to arrive.

Then, we had to send that whole stack of paperwork in a Letterpack to the French embassy, where they would take about four weeks to process the request. Why so long? Well, according to French law, your intended marriage has to be publicly announced—basically nailed to a door somewhere for ten days so people can object. The modern version of this medieval tradition is that the announcement hangs on the embassy’s bulletin board for ten days, where absolutely no one will see it. After that, they apparently need a few more weeks to eat baguettes and go on strike or something before finally mailing back the letter in the registered Letterpack that you had to include yourself.

So, we weren’t expecting the French paperwork to arrive until after I got back from my trip to the Netherlands. But then, last Thursday morning, the doorbell suddenly rang—it was the mailman. A week before my departure, the letter had arrived.

Well, almost. First, we had to gather our witnesses. So on Saturday, we started the day with a coffee at Starbucks in Yokohama with my Japanese friend Kei, followed by a cocktail with Swam, a friend of François, at TGI Fridays. After that, we decided to go up the Landmark Tower to enjoy the stunning sunset—so romantic.

I originally wanted to get married on Monday, but François preferred Tuesday. 25-3-25 is a nicer date, he said. But mostly, he didn’t want to rush to get married and then have to head straight to the office. (On Tuesdays, he works from home, so we’d have more flexibility.) Plus, the weather forecast was better for Tuesday. I knew he was right, but my brain struggled with it. “YEAH BUT WHAT IF…?!”

I’m still not completely over my pandemic trauma; if I had applied just a week earlier back then, I wouldn’t have had to wait fourteen months for the borders to reopen. “What could go wrong now?” François asked. I was already envisioning the paperwork being incorrect, us needing more time, me having to go to the Netherlands first, and then something completely unexpected happening to ruin everything. “Like what?” he asked. “A disaster?” I replied. “Wouldn’t we have something bigger to worry about in that case?” Of course. He was right. Besides, I didn’t want to be at city hall with a stressed-out, exhausted François either. So, Tuesday it was.

This morning, the alarm went off at 7:00. City hall opened at 8:30, and we wanted to be there right when it did. Getting married in Japan is kind of like filing a change of address—you don’t need an appointment, you just walk in and submit the form. At least… if you’re Japanese. In our case, there were quite a few corrections to be made first.

Here’s the deal: We had our permission letters from our respective embassies, but even though those embassies are in Tokyo, they issue these documents in their native languages (or, in the case of the Netherlands, with some English and French). City hall, however, wants everything in Japanese. Luckily, I had the foresight to email them in advance to ask if we could translate the documents ourselves, and they said that was fine as long as we signed and stamped the translations. So that’s what we did.

But apparently, all Western names and places also needed to be written in katakana, the Japanese characters that indicate pronunciation. On the marriage form, in the tiny box where normally about four kanji fit per parent, we had to write our parents’ full names—including middle names—in both Western script and Japanese. “Hey ChatGPT, how do you write ‘Gerretje’ in katakana?”

But then, after all the additions and final checks, everything was good to go. “Gokekkon omedetou gozaimasu, you’re married!” said the woman behind the counter. “You can pick up the certificate on Friday, but you’ll need to fill out this complicated form first.” Ah well, it’s still Japan, after all.

After this ceremony—or rather, this uneventful morning at city hall—we walked to the nearest cherry blossom tree. I put on my Minnie Mouse ears, pulled the influencer tripod I had hastily bought yesterday out of my bag, and took some photos with my phone and the janky Bluetooth remote that has somehow survived on the same battery for five years. By the way, I bought my dress on Thursday afternoon while thrift shopping with my friend Esther. It cost 880 yen, or about 5 euros and 41 cents. It’s from Uniqlo and super comfy.

As soon as I get back from my trip to the Netherlands, I’m heading straight to city hall to pick up the marriage certificate and apply to switch my residence status to Spouse of Permanent Resident. This new status will give me so much more freedom! Right now, my visa requires me to have a (company with a) physical office—which I do—but soon, that won’t be necessary anymore. Not that I’m planning to sell my office/apartment, but I could rent it out (temporarily) if I wanted to. I’ll also be able to switch my company from a Japanese Kabushiki Kaisha to a sole proprietorship, saving tons of money on taxes and accounting fees. I won’t have to renew my visa every year anymore—well, the first spouse visa is usually just one year too, I think, but after that, it quickly becomes three or five. And after three years of marriage, I’ll be eligible for Permanent Residency myself.

Oh, and I also bought a fancier wedding dress on Vinted. It’s currently at Charlotte’s place in the Netherlands, and I’ll pick it up next week when I visit her. Next month, Maan is coming back to Japan, and we’ll do the real photoshoot then. Can’t wait!