Miss Universe Journey

What It Was Like Becoming Miss Universe Japan

I feel like this is the question I get asked the most:“How was it? How did it feel to become Miss Universe Japan?” And every time, I never quite know what to say.

Not because I don’t have an answer — but because I don’t think I’ve ever had the time or space to really sit down and explain it all the way it deserves to be told. So I’m going to try now.

I think it started the moment I saw a video of Lara Dutta in October of 2023— I think it was Miss Universe 2000 — answering her Miss Universe final question. She was asked something like, “What is the relevance of beauty pageants in today’s world and how it could be seen as degrading towards women?” (please correct me if I’m wrong). But the way she responded — calm, composed, articulate, intelligent — it completely stopped me in my tracks. There was so much grace in her presence, and at the same time, she felt so powerful.

And I remember thinking to myself: That’s the kind of woman I want to be. Someone who can carry both softness and strength. Someone who is intelligent, confident, graceful — and uses all of that to lead. I didn’t want to be her. I just wanted to be someone like that, in my own way.

At that time, I wasn’t feeling like the best version of myself. I had just come out of a really heavy few months — emotionally, physically. I was taking care of someone close to me, and going through things, now that I think about it is traumatic, that I’ll probably talk about another time. I just knew I wanted something to change. I wanted to take control of myself again. I wanted to feel like I had the power to rebuild who I was, or maybe finally become who I had always hoped I could be.

So I applied. Quietly. No big announcement. Just one step forward.

I finished my last university exam and got on a plane to Japan that same week. I landed late on a Friday night. The next morning, Saturday, was my first day of training. I remember being so jet lagged but wide awake, waking up hours early because of the time difference and nerves. Everyone else had already started training the week before. I felt behind. But I also felt ready.

That first practice was surreal. I remember being in a room full of women I didn’t know yet, all so beautiful and confident, and I thought: Okay, here we go. Let’s see what you’re made of.

At the time, I was living in Kobe, which was way too far to commute to Tokyo every day. I didn’t want to bother my family or put pressure on anyone, so I moved into a tiny, 11-square-meter hotel room in Tokyo. No kitchen. Barely any space to stretch my arms. But it was mine. And every day, I trained. I practiced walking, speaking, standing, answering questions. I studied old competitions. I studied Japan’s politics and history. I started volunteering in Tokyo whenever I had the chance. I studied Japanese customs and culture all over again — not because I was unfamiliar with it, but because I knew how people might see me.

I knew they’d look at me and say, “You’re not Japanese enough.”I knew they'd question my background, my appearance, the fact that I went to university abroad.

So I told myself: If they’re going to question you, give them nothing to question.I wanted to be so well-prepared, so rooted in my knowledge and love for Japan, that even if someone wanted to tear me down, they’d have nothing to stand on. I had to become an expert on the country I was representing. Not just for others, but for myself.

Every single day in that room, I pushed myself. I rehearsed speeches in front of the mirror. I edited videos. I researched policy. I tried different ways of styling my hair, doing my makeup, finding my angles, all of it. And still, there was this whisper in my head saying, You’re not doing enough.

But looking back now, I don’t think I’ve ever worked harder for anything in my life.

Eventually, the competition came. And when they called my name as the winner — “Miss Universe Japan 2024” — I remember my ears ringing. My hands shaking. And immediately, my eyes searched for the people I loved. Some were in the audience, some were watching online. But all of them were there. I remember thinking: They get to see this. They get to see me win.

It meant everything to me. Not just because I had won, but because I had done it my way. I didn’t fake anything. I didn’t try to be someone I wasn’t. I was just me, trying my best — and somehow, that was enough.

But the work didn’t stop there.Right after I won, I switched gears. I started planning how I could use the platform. I traveled — back to the U.S., to Indonesia, to the Philippines. I volunteered. I did school visits, cultural exchanges, health awareness campaigns. I worked on becoming a better global speaker — not just in Japanese, but in English and Spanish, too.

I learned how to edit videos, plan shoots, write captions, handle branding. I worked with designers, choreographers, makeup artists. And somewhere in between all of that, I was still trying to be me.

And then came Miss Universe.

I don’t even know how to describe that experience without getting emotional. You walk into a room, and suddenly you’re surrounded by over 130 women — each one representing a country, a culture, a community. And not just the delegates. The staff, the crew, the organizers — every single person was there because they believed in this. They believed in the dream.

The question I get the most is, “What was your happiest moment?” There are so many. But I think the one I’ll carry with me forever was hearing my name called in the Top 30.

What people don’t know is that during rehearsals — the simulations — they never once called my name. Not even once. And I remember thinking, Okay. They’ve already made up their minds. I’m not part of their plan.

So when they said “Japan” that night, on stage, with the world watching — it hit me so hard. I couldn’t believe it. I looked straight at my parents and my national director and I just kept mouthing, “Thank you.” I think I even said it out loud. I don’t even remember. I was crying.

It felt like the entire year I had worked for — all the sleepless nights, the sacrifices, the pressure — it was all worth it in that single breath.

And the other thing I’ll never forget? How loved Japan is.

Even before people knew my name, they came up to me just to say how much they loved the country. They told me about their trips. Their favorite foods. Their dream to visit one day. That pride I felt — getting to be the person that represents a place so deeply loved — I still can’t describe it.

That was my honor. That was my joy.

And just when I thought the experience had reached its peak, something unexpected happened.

After the Miss Universe competition ended, I was honored to be selected as Miss Pandora — a special title given by the brand for authenticity, strength in storytelling, and the way I shared my background during the competition. They recognized not just the performance on stage, but the realness of who I was throughout. I think that meant even more to me than I can explain — being seen for me. Not just for how I looked, but for what I stood for.

As Miss Pandora, I was invited on a brand trip to Thailand alongside other amazing delegates, where we represented our countries once again — but this time, through a lens of sisterhood, collaboration, and personal style. It was a completely different kind of honor, but one that reminded me that even after the competition ends, your story continues. People remember honesty. They remember heart.

And for me, that was the quiet win.The one that told me I had left something meaningful behind.

This journey made me stronger. Softer. Wiser. And above all, grateful. It taught me that the only thing separating you from the person you want to be… is taking that first step.

I didn’t know who I’d become when I applied. But I’m so glad I found out.

There will always be more to write but that is what I write for now.

Always with love,

Kaya