A student enquiry received by Students Herald, viewed alongside Japan’s little-understood phenomenon of jōhatsu, raises a broader question for international education: what do we really know about the circumstances behind a student’s decision to leave home?

A 16-year-old recently contacted Students Herald about studying overseas.

She seemed to have already thought about one of the biggest obstacles to international education which is money. She mentioned that she had the financial resources to pursue her studies abroad. However, her question did not focus on tuition fees, university rankings or admission requirements.

She was curious if she would require parental consent to study abroad.

An international education adviser may find this question straightforward. Minors studying abroad might need to meet parental consent, guardianship, accommodation, and welfare requirements based on the specific country, institution, and immigration system in question.

However, there was something about the enquiry that proved more challenging to answer. What motivated a 16-year-old to determine if her parents should be involved?

We do not know.

There is no basis for concluding that she was having difficulties at home, hiding her plans or trying to leave her family. She might just be a very independent teenager exploring her options.

The question is intriguing precisely because of its uncertainty.

International education gathers extensive data on students before they travel abroad, yet it frequently lacks insight into the reasons behind their decision to study overseas.

An unusual parallel from Japan

That question took on another dimension when a seemingly unrelated Japanese phenomenon began circulating again on social media.

It is called jōhatsu (蒸発), literally “evaporation.”

The term has been used in Japan for decades to describe people who deliberately withdraw from their established lives, sometimes leaving employment, relationships, families and communities before attempting to rebuild elsewhere.

The phenomenon is real, although its scale and character are frequently exaggerated online.

International reporting has documented businesses commonly described as yonige-ya, or “night-moving” services, which assist people seeking discreet relocation. Their clients have reportedly included people facing debt, relationship breakdown and, in some cases, domestic abuse or controlling circumstances.

The 2024 documentary Johatsu: Into Thin Air directed by Andreas Hartmann and Arata Mori brought renewed attention to this largely hidden world by following individuals who disappeared, those who assisted them, and the people left searching for answers.

It is important not to romanticise what is happening.

These businesses cannot simply erase someone's legal identity or obligations, and Japan's overall missing-person figures should not be presented as a measure of jōhatsu. Missing-person statistics encompass a much wider range of circumstances.

But beneath the internet mythology surrounding people who “vanish” is a more consequential idea.

For some people, changing their circumstances becomes so difficult that changing their entire environment can appear to be the only viable way forward.

Studying abroad continues to thrive

There is an obvious danger in drawing too neat a line between jōhatsu and a teenager asking about international education.

They are fundamentally different circumstances.

A student moving overseas to pursue an education is not “evaporating.” International study is a regulated process involving institutions, immigration authorities and, particularly for minors, welfare safeguards.

Nor do we know enough about the student who contacted Students Herald to interpret the motivation behind her question.

However, the juxtaposition brings up a valid question for an industry focused on mobility,

When a student is determined to go somewhere, how well do we understand their motivations for leaving?

International education typically considers mobility by focusing on the destination, including where the student will study, which university they will attend, what qualification they will earn, and what career opportunities may follow, all of which are important questions.

However, human decisions are seldom determined only by the destinations people aspire to reach. They are also affected by the situations they are departing from.

The part of the application nobody sees

International education is an industry of documentation.

A prospective student's life is gradually translated into a file that includes a passport, academic records, language proficiency, financial evidence, an offer letter, visa documentation and eventually enrolment.

The process can determine with considerable precision if someone meets the academic and financial criteria to study overseas. However, it cannot reveal the reasons behind their desire to do so.

An application may come from a student whose family has meticulously planned for an international education over many years.

Alternatively, it could be from someone looking for independence from familial expectations.

Another applicant might be trying to restart their academic journey after experiencing failure.

A student may select a destination where relatives already reside, offering a sense of security.

In contrast, someone else might be relocating because the career path envisioned by their family does not align with their personal aspirations.

Occasionally, the circumstances behind the desire to leave may be more serious. These situations are not particularly well captured by international student statistics. However, they can profoundly shape what happens after arrival.

International education has always offered reinvention

This is one reason studying abroad carries an appeal that cannot be explained entirely through rankings, employment outcomes or qualifications.

International education provides geographical distance which can transform individuals.

Students enter environments where their classmates might be unaware of their families, past academic achievements, social standing or errors. They face varying expectations and distinct definitions of success.

For some individuals, this fosters independence. For others, it builds confidence. For yet others, it offers a chance to rethink a career, identity or future that previously appeared predetermined.

This situation is not inherently troubling. Reinvention has always been a fundamental aspect of education. In fact, it could be considered one of its greatest strengths.

However, it's crucial to differentiate between opting for independence and feeling compelled to escape.

Understanding where that line sits becomes particularly important when the prospective student is a minor.

At 16, an admissions question can also be a welfare question

International education professionals frequently respond to inquiries regarding age requirements. However, when a minor specifically asks if parental permission can be bypassed, it introduces a different level of responsibility.

A student under 18 may need parental or legal consent based on the destination as well as an approved guardian, specific accommodation arrangements and ongoing welfare oversight.

Those requirements may seem bureaucratic but they also serve as safeguards.

Thus, the right answer to a question like the one received by Students Herald cannot merely be to pinpoint the country or institution with the most lenient pathway.

It may require another question first: Can you tell us more about your circumstances?

Education advisers are distinct from social workers, and universities are unable to examine the family life of every applicant. However, safeguarding is not limited to the airport. At times, it starts with understanding when a typical admissions question might require a more thoughtful discussion.

The human story behind international mobility

The student who reached out to Students Herald might study abroad in the future. She might talk about the idea with her parents. She might choose to wait until she is older. She might completely abandon the plan. We do not have that information, and we have intentionally kept back details that could reveal her identity.

Her enquiry matters for a different reason as it revealed how easily international education can understand everything necessary to process a student while knowing surprisingly little about the individual being processed.

That is where the distant story of Japan's jōhatsu becomes relevant. This is not due to the disappearance of international students or the notion that a teenager inquiring about parental consent is trying to flee. Instead, both stories highlight that mobility has a human context that paperwork cannot fully capture.

International education dedicates significant time to asking young people about their desired destinations, fields of study, and future aspirations. There may be instances when another question warrants equal consideration, which is what is motivating you to leave. The response could be quite ordinary. This response might uncover ambition, independence, curiosity, or simply the thrill of exploring a different part of the world.

At times the answer may uncover insights that an application form could never provide.

In an international education industry that is increasingly shaped by recruitment goals, visa regulations, enrollment figures and global competition for students, this is important to keep in mind.

Before an international student becomes an application, an enrolment or a statistic, there exists a person and often a story.

Behind the Application | Students Herald

International education includes stories that seldom show up in university brochures or government statistics.

Students Herald seeks to hear from students, graduates, families, and education professionals regarding the unusual, difficult, unexpected, or seldom discussed experiences related to studying abroad.

Stories may be shared confidentially, and identifying information does not need to be published.

Sometimes understanding international education begins with the part of the story that never made it onto the application form.