IT’S SATURDAY morning here in Tokyo. Earlier I went to the convenience store (konbini) and picked up a couple of onigiri (rice balls) for my girlfriend Coco and me, as well as a doughnut and two coffees.

It’s my last week living in Japan after two and a half years. The feeling is surreal. What am I gonna miss most about Japan? Honestly, the konbini. I’m kidding, but not really. I have a real, profound love for this Japanese phenomenon.

There are a handful of konbini brands in Japan, with the main three — 7 Eleven, Family Mart, and Lawsons — found on nearly every block in the major cities and scattered throughout the countryside.

Each brand has its quirks, pros and cons.

Convenience stores all stock the same things in Japan — meals (yes real, edible, dare I say sometimes healthy-ish meals!) snacks, beverages, tobacco and alcohol, beauty products, as well as miscellaneous office and home supplies.

There’s even basic clothing for, I imagine, when a businessperson spills coffee on their button down and needs a fresh one before a meeting, or when someone needs an impromptu extra layer in the cold.

That is the pyramid of convenience store stock. The content of each layer on the pyramid varies based on the brand and location.

For example, the best convenience store I’ve ever had the pleasure of visiting was a Natural Lawsons in Ginza, the ritzy high-end shopping district of Tokyo.

What Erewhon — the bougie, although damn good California grocery store — is to the common Ralphs, this konbini is to the everyday Family Mart. It was breathtaking.

7 Eleven, sometimes called 7 and i Holdings, is old faithful, the star child of Japanese convenience stores. Family Mart is constantly trying to prove itself, and sometimes it does. Sometimes, however, it falls flat when I need a tasty treat most.

I love Lawsons because their drip coffee leaves a nice layer of foam on top without adding anything, a marvel of modern engineering (convenience store drip coffee is actually quite good in Japan and costs around $1.00).

Beyond what you can buy, there are ATMs in virtually all konbini; you can pay your taxes and bills; you can print and make photocopies easily, and you can even pick up tickets for events. There’s really not much you can’t do.

The convenience store is more than just a place to get a beer, a notebook, or even cheap socks. To me, it’s nostalgia, memories from late nights and early mornings and the start of any weekend trip.

It’s the beginning of my day, as I’d hit my local Lawsons after the gym when I lived in Osaka, and now start my day with a cup o’ joe at my local Family Mart here in Tokyo.

The store is clean, and there’s a nice little jingle playing when you enter. I say ohayo (good morning) to the friendly staff I’ve come to know.

I can’t communicate too much with the crew who don’t speak English, but we exchange pleasantries in Japanese, and they just make me smile when I go in there. I’ve gotten to know some employees from Nepal who can speak English. It’s like my konbini family.

More often than not, it feels like konbini employees take pride in what they do or at least try to do the job well, which feels like a common sentiment in Japan. It doesn’t matter what the job is — do it right.

Almost every morning I buy a coffee and as it pours, I peruse the Japanese newspapers, the Pokémon cards, or the anime character figurines by the checkout.

I take the first sip of hot coffee before putting on the lid . . . ah, and go about my day.

There’s a childlike atmosphere that’s comforting, but that’s much of Japan: Pokémon featured in municipal ads, anime characters on the trains, pop culture infused into theme parks and everyday life. It’s safe, it’s fun, it’s strange.

The konbini exemplifies this, as it’s an integral element of Japanese life. I’m not saying it’s like being at Disney Land every time you walk into a convenience store.

But there is just something nice about it; it’s warm in winter and cold in summer, a respite from the elements, a shining light in the darkness, a hot beverage or an onigiri when times are tough . . .

It feels like coming home.

So what is it about the Japanese konbini that puts it on another stratosphere from other convenience stores, such as those back home for me in the United States?

My half-baked reasoning is that America is a country where having a car is necessary. There are exceptions, of course, like New York City.

Yet the landscapes and cities are massive and spread out, and that’s what makes it special. To me, the beauty is found on the road trip from state to state across open deserts, through mountains, along the sea.

You stop at a gas station convenience store, but the point is to get gas, not to have a pleasant convenience store visit. The convenience store is an afterthought, so it’s often grim in there: three-day-old hotdogs spinning slowly to their demise; slushies; gnarly apples that you don’t wanna look at wrong.

Japanese cities, in contrast to the U.S., are made to walk and bike. There are benefits to having a car, like reaching some epic remote destinations, but you really don’t need one.

You can get practically anywhere in the country by train, and since you’re already on the ground, might as well pop into the konbini on the corner and grab a bite.

The focus isn’t on getting gas — it’s about going to the konbini with a reason. That reason might be a sweet treat, as it very well should be. The unrivaled Japanese snacks and sweet treats take center stage, and they shine, baby.

Things in Japan are just smaller as well, more compact than the U.S. Instead of bulk buys at Costco for the month, I buy groceries every day since my fridge is too small to hold anything more than that, and I don’t have a pantry.

It just makes more sense to get a few items from the konbini before dinner, which makes it an everyday part of life.

They say Japan’s 7 Eleven is expanding to the U.S., but I have my doubts it can be the same. There’s something about the konbini in Japan that can’t be replicated, and that is the people who work at these stores, for the people are part of the culture, and the culture has its own unique history, an unwritten code and way of being.

Like I said, the Japanese take pride in what they do, irrespective of what it is. For instance, last night, my girlfriend and I went to a music show and were on our way home around 3 a.m.

We stopped in the konbini for a snack, and there were two employees cleaning the store meticulously. The onigiri were stocked to the absolute brim, with only one missing out of a handful of rows. I swear I had tears in my eyes.

I feel like I’m seeing something I’m not supposed to see, Coco said.

It felt like a religious hour, a ceremony. The staff were doing what they do, working the night shift. But the experience was beautiful. We ate our onigiri and a cookie out front, relishing the experience, getting sentimental.

There’s so much I’m gonna miss about this country. The food, the nature, the shrines, the trains, the seasons. But the konbini — man, there’s something beautiful about it that perhaps I just can’t capture in these words. You’ll just have to come to Japan and experience them for yourself.

Some of my favorite snacks are:

• Onigiri, of course. I like cod roe, salmon, and bonito flakes the most.
• These peanut butter seaweed balls, so crunchy and good
• Mochi with red bean paste
• Soft-boiled eggs, cooked to perfection
• Savas protein bars are a frequent purchase, as is beef jerky
• Mint chocolate chip ice cream on occasion
• Fami chiki (fried chicken from Family Mart) when duty calls on a night out.
• Lastly, kuri manju, a steamed chestnut pastry. Desserts in Japan seem subtler than in other countries, which is nice. But this — didn’t see this relationship coming. Kuri manju is the real MVP. You heard it here first.