From Theatre to Social Change: How Malaysia Helped Megumi Uchiyama Find Purpose

When Megumi Uchiyama left Tokyo 3 years ago for Malaysia, she didn’t have a detailed plan—just a Google search, a rough idea of where Malaysia was on the map, and most importantly, a restless hunger for change. She arrived in Malaysia at the height of the pandemic, abandoning her initial plans to pursue tertiary education in the United States in exchange for something more accessible and affordable. Letting go of a more traditional and far less risky route in Japan, Megumi decided to step into the unknown in hopes of a more fulfilling journey.

Today, Megumi is 23 and in her final semester at the University of Nottingham Malaysia, completing a degree in International Communication with Performing Arts. With deep roots in musical theatre that stem from her childhood, Megumi’s story at first glance might seem like one about finding her way back to theatre; but underneath it is something more complex: a journey marked by self-doubt, rediscovery, and an evolving sense of purpose that’s taken her far beyond the stage.

As she steps into the final chapter of her degree and time in Malaysia, she’s preparing to walk away from performing arts, not out of defeat, but with a sense of closure. In its place, she’s pursuing something else entirely: a vision to make Japan more inclusive for Muslim communities. Her creative path may be winding down, but what comes next might be her boldest performance yet.

A Childhood on Stage, and a Crisis at Eighteen

Megumi’s relationship with the stage began early in life. She joined a musical theatre school at the age of 7, a decision rooted in her passion for dancing. It was quickly apparent that what she was doing went beyond movement—it was acting, singing, storytelling: it was musical theatre. And for a while, she loved it.

Megumi looked forward to the annual performances, which served as an opportunity to immerse herself in a role and leave the outside world behind. The theatre felt magical, but what fascinated her most was the work behind it; what looked effortless on stage was the result of intense preparation and collaboration. “It’s such a dreamy and magical environment,” she said. “But behind that, there are the endless efforts of people. It felt like something only humans could achieve.”

But as she grew older, the magic began to unravel. The environment at her theatre school was highly competitive, and no matter how long she had been there, it felt like others were moving ahead. Newer students landed more prominent roles. Her confidence eroded as the stage started to feel more like a measuring contest over a place for expression. Eventually, she began to question whether she belonged in the world of theatre at all.

At 18, Megumi left Japan for a short-term programme in the United States. She couldn’t speak English well and knew almost no one. It was a time of dislocation, but also clarity. Stripped of the routines and identities she had relied on for so long, she began to ask herself what, if anything, still felt true.“I realised I had nothing much I could talk about myself other than performing arts,” she said. “So I thought, why not keep doing it for some time more?” Despite the language barrier, Megumi found that there was something exhilarating about starting over; being surrounded by people who knew nothing about her, free from the quiet expectations she had carried back home. It was this revelation that would eventually lead her to Malaysia.

From Google Search to Campus Life

When it came time to choose a university, Megumi initially looked to the United States. But with the pandemic disrupting plans and tuition fees proving too steep, she began to reconsider. Though she was accepted into a university in Japan, something about staying didn’t sit right. “I had one week to decide whether to take the offer,” she said. “But I kept asking myself: do I really want to stay in Japan for another four years?”

Drawn to the freedom she had experienced abroad, Megumi went searching for another option. Her criteria were simple: somewhere safe, affordable, and new. “I just Googled, and Malaysia came up,” she said. “I wasn’t even sure where it was, honestly. But I thought, why not just go?”

There was uncertainty, but also relief. “I was more scared to stay back in Japan.” 

Falling Back in Love with Theatre

Megumi didn’t plan to return to theatre when she first enrolled at the University of Nottingham Malaysia. The performing arts programme was still growing, and resources were modest compared to what she had known back home; but perhaps because of that, she found herself creating again, but this time, with her voice.

In Japan, she had dedicated years immersed in traditional training. There were fixed ways to speak, walk, and even breathe on stage. That world was full of structure and status. Even though I loved it, it felt like the theatre didn’t love me back.”

Malaysia helped change that. The environment was looser and more forgiving. People cared less about polish and put more emphasis on participation. There was room to try, to stumble, and still be welcomed. “I wasn’t restricted to the traditional way anymore, and that gave me liberty.” For the first time in a long while, she felt free to explore. 

Through the university’s Literature and Drama Society, Megumi began to rebuild her confidence. She started backstage, running lights and supporting tech crews, but soon stepped into larger roles. In her second year, she co-directed Spilled Gravy on Rice, a full-length Malay drama involving a large and diverse production team. It was unpredictable, exhausting, and at times chaotic, but she loved every part of it.

By her final year, she had become president of the society. For someone who once thought she had lost her place in theatre, it marked a quiet but powerful return. Nottingham Malaysia didn’t offer the most polished productions, but it gave her something far more meaningful: a place to belong.

Creating Without Borders

Megumi’s creative work has always come from a personal place, often aiming to build a place to connect. “I want to make things everyone can enjoy, regardless of their background, language, or culture.”

Her stories often centre on the everyday. In one play, drinks in a vending machine come to life; in another, a laptop becomes a speaking character. She gravitates toward simplicity, finding meaning in the ordinary and offering space for the audience to interpret things in their own way and have unique relationships with the subject matter.

These artistic choices reflect her own experience navigating life as an outsider. Whether growing up in Tokyo with feelings of alienation, or as a foreign uni student in the U.S and Malaysia, her experiences have fuelled her desire to create stories that feel accessible and welcoming.

It was that same instinct that drew her to filmmaking. What began as a small short film project with a friend, Ashri, grew into an ongoing collaboration. Together, they’ve made four student films. Filmmaking brought new challenges—technical demands, tighter pacing, endless retakes—but also gave Megumi a new space to express herself.

Most of all, it helped her reclaim acting. She had long avoided performing in English, afraid her accent would hold her back. But in Malaysia, where accents are the norm, she felt freer. “People here don’t mind as long as you’re audible,” she said. That shift, as simple as it was, gave her the courage to speak up and step forward.

A New Direction, Rooted in Connection

For most of her life, Megumi imagined her future would revolve around theatre. But during her final year in Malaysia, that vision began to shift. After years of expressing herself through art, she started to think more seriously about the kind of impact she wanted to make beyond the stage.

The turning point came when a close Malaysian-Muslim friend visited Japan and struggled to find a place to pray or eat. It was a small but telling moment, one that made Megumi reflect on how inaccessible Japan still was for many Muslim visitors. 

The experience stirred something deeper: a sense of responsibility. Having grown up in Japan, internalised media biases, then lived abroad and unlearned them firsthand, Megumi realised she was in a rare position. She understood both the source of the problem and the people it affected. “When it comes to this new dream, I feel like it has to be me,” she said. “I’m the one who went to foreign countries, immersed myself in the culture, and changed because of it.”

Her studies in media and communication helped her make sense of how such biases are formed. She began to understand how agenda-setting and framing in Japanese media had shaped her earlier misconceptions about Islam. Rather than turn away from it, she’s choosing to engage.

She doesn’t have a clear plan yet, but she knows where she’s headed. Whether through journalism, education, or policy, Megumi hopes to contribute to a more inclusive Japan—one where difference is not feared, but welcomed.

Moving On with Meaning

Megumi is no longer pursuing a career in the performing arts, but she isn’t leaving it with regret. In fact, the opposite is true. “I feel satisfied,” she said. “I had enough. I’m good.” That sense of closure has given her the confidence to chase something new.

Her story is still unfolding, now driven by a different kind of creativity, one rooted in empathy, shaped by experience, and powered by the same desire that’s guided her since she first stepped on stage: to make people feel seen.