Not all goodbyes are created equal. Some hurt way more than others. We all know that, and for a while, it seemed as if most of the goodbyes I said hurt a little less. Of course there were the occasional tears and puffy eyes, but usually, I get by with a warm smile and a wave. The only difference between those times and how I feel now is what I say, when I part ways with someone. It’s not see you later anymore. I’ve had to say goodbye more than I ever thought I would. That choice is very intentional.
I think I first noticed it when I had to leave home last summer to go back to school. It hurt even more than leaving the first time, which I thought was a bit unusual. I had done one year away from home already, shouldn’t going back be easier? Shouldn’t I be used to the feeling of missing home, and shouldn’t I be good at creating a temporary home at school? My call log was already full, I knew how to collect packages from the gate, I had gotten used to having a bun every couple months, instead of every day. So why was it that I could barely walk back into the house to get my suitcase? I think after another month of goodbyes, I know why.
I realized what I would miss most when I left home in August were the walks with Max, the joking around with Zachary, being able to fall asleep on Mum’s shoulder, helping out with Dad around the house. Waking up to a routine, the familiar smell of tea, or bacon on the stove. Hearing the Today Show from the TV in the kitchen. Feeling the heat on my skin. The porridge that I have 6 days a week, the raisins in the cupboard, cleaning up after Max every other day. Arguing about whose turn it is to feed the dog, groaning every time I have to clean the bathtub. I miss the feeling of familiarity, that I know what to expect, and that it’s not going to change. I trust that when I sit in the passenger seat on a Wednesday, I’m going to end up singing along with my Dad to songs that are older than me. On a Friday, I know that Mum and I will end up talking for an hour. I know that Zach will come to me for some kind of homework help. I miss the familiarity of it all. At this stage in life, I realize that I’m saying goodbye to people and places like usual, but also what they represent for me.
I smell bacon because I know what’s for breakfast, it’s not something I have to put my mind towards. In the car, I can afford to sit back and laugh because I’m not the one driving. At home, there are just some things I don’t have to worry about, like how much an MTR token is going to cost, or whether breakfast will finally be good. I realize it’s a part of growing up, but it’s something that I don’t want to say goodbye to.
When I said goodbye to home, it hit me, never again would I live there for an extended period of time. Every time I go back, there’s a clock counting down until I leave again. Leaving that permanence behind is why it’s so hard to say goodbye. I’ll never routinely have porridge for breakfast for another few years, I probably won’t get to listen to Throwback Wednesdays for a long long while. Everytime I go back, something else will have changed. This summer, I’ll be a university student. Eventually, it will be coming back to get ready for an internship. Then, I’ll get to buy my own ticket back because I’m finally working. Then, I’ll be a husband, and eventually, hopefully, a dad. Who knows what else will come.
The ways I identify myself won’t be the only things that change. Eventually, my parents will move from being my working parents, to my retired parents, to grandparents… Zach won’t be a teenager anymore, he’ll be a grown man. The same baby who I saw say his first words and take his first steps will be taller than me. Max will lose his energy and his bark will become softer and softer everytime I go back, with more gray hairs around his snout. These changes, more than any home renovations or new appliances, scare me, because I know that most times, I may not be there to witness them happen, only seeing how everything changes when I get to return. I’m not ready to let go of the feeling that being at home gives me. I don’t feel ready to let the things that made my childhood amazing go. But it’s inevitable.
Maybe that’s why I find it so hard to say goodbye these days. Seeing my friends leave for winter break felt different than when we waved each other away for summer. For the first time, I think it’s sinking in that very soon, that plane away from school will be on a one-way trip. Going back to every corner of the world, we won’t have canteen talks, poolside birthdays and MTR trips again. Some of the people I hold dearest in my heart, I know I probably won’t see ever again. That’s something I’m not ready for. Seeing the same people I laughed in class with, worked on projects with, and played on the field with become faces that remind me of what once was isn’t something I want. Keeping in touch is hard, and as everyone grows to grasp the opportunities coming their way, we have to leave some things, and some people in the past, as much as we might not want to.
It’s hard to say goodbye these days because I know it isn’t a see you later. It’s a very real possibility that it’s a final goodbye. It’s hard to accept that at some point, when I hear certain names, I’ll tell my kids how close we once were, but regret that I have no way to keep in contact. The final hug, kiss or handshake before the person that was once a knock away becomes a profile picture, a visual gallery of appearances, with any emotional connection fading into memory.
So now, these “practice” exits feel so real. For me, what will be hardest to reckon with is that the person who is usually two minutes away will now be hours away. Transformed into a little box on my phone. I don’t want to be separated like this. But the reality is that it will probably happen, and I’m not ready.
Overtime, I’m sure these feelings will get easier, as we make new friends, create new memories and establish a new ‘normal.’ These memories will be happy ones, reminiscing won’t feel like a burden. We will be able to smile and say, “Remember when…” But for now, the thought of making another new home is almost too much to take. I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.
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