Leaving for the first time brought on a deep and profound sadness and introduced a type of fear in me that I’d never felt before. With shaking hands and a racing heart, I packed for an unknown number of years in Asia. I plastered a smile on my face, able to fool everyone but myself into thinking that I was overjoyed to be following my dreams.
Leaving for the second time was almost as hard as the first. Everything that I was longing for during my two years overseas was currently right in front of me, yet there I was packing again. After a dream-like visit home I was preparing to say goodbye again, never knowing if it was for the last time.
I wanted to savor my final day home with joyful positivity while making vivid memories. I planned on hanging those memories in the gallery of my mind, or behind my eyes, or wherever it is that the clearest memories dwell.
There is nothing like finality to rob you of the joy of your last experiences. On the evening before my departure, I went on a walk with a loved one. Would this be our last walk together? Our last time crossing the bridge and throwing rocks into the creek?
I made up my mind to move back to the States in a year’s time. During my final year overseas I learned to say goodbye well - honoring the people and traditions that I had grown to love.
