"How lucky I am to have had something that makes saying goodbye so hard..." -unknown-
Tonight, at Daddy's Shoes, there were white candles burning in the ashtrays; I watched them burn, over my beer - small, dancing flames against a neon background, mouring those of us who have loved the place, and will not return.
Japan is my once and future home. I'll be returning, in four hours, to America, and there I'll stay for only a month. I'll be back here in Hirakatashi next semester, and I'll live out most of my life in Tokyo. I have no reason to mourn for this country, for I will never really lose it. Japan and I have a rich future together. Until last night, I didn't feel the slightest sense of loss at the prospect of going back to New York for the holidays.
But when I watched Kat walk away, last night, away down the familiar stretch of sidewalk - that's when it hit me.
I'm not leaving - not for long, and certainly not for good.
But there are people here that I have grown to love, in such a short time, that will never be back.
Tonight, before I left for Daddys, I hugged Yuki and Jacqui goodbye; and for the first time, I cried. I will never again live with them. We won't make pancakes on Sunday morning, anymore, or laugh over dinner, or watch Dawson's Creek for lack of anything better to do. Our lives together, as roommates, are over.
So many of our lives together are over.
There's facebook, of course, and email, and phone calls. There's the prospect of future visits - traversing the globe to reunite, and reminisce about our time here. There's the memories that we will carry and treasure for the rest of our lives, wherever we live them.
But there will never be another Fall 2006 semester. Things will never be the same.
Jessie left today, with Patrick, solemn and somber, to guide her to the airport. Tomorrow morning, Ethan will follow me to KIX only hours behind. Christy will fly home to San Diego two days from now, and Matt will be soon after her, headed back to West Virginia. So many of us won't be here come January. Daddy's Shoes will never be the same. And it saddens me, to think that these people - these former strangers, whom I have grown to care for so deeply in a mere three and a half months - will scatter across the globe once more, never again to spend our days together, to share our lives.
I saw Kat for the last time, tonight, in a dark side street. I hugged her, and kissed her, and cried on her shoulder. And I realized, with my arms around her, the full magnitude of what I am losing; my new, short life in Hirakata is scattering like ashes into the wind, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand, washed away in the tides of life.
But I'm lucky, truly lucky, to feel the pain of this loss - for if it didn't hurt, it wouldn't truly have been worth it. We only cry for the things that we have loved - and love is what turns this world, when all is said and done. Love is all we have to live for.
I will miss them, every one of them. Kat, and Matt, and Jessie - Christy and Jacqui, Yuki and Ethan, and Dave. Even Jason, I'll miss, in a strange way.
But the memories of what we have shared will stay with me forever.
Japan is my once and future home. I'll be returning, in four hours, to America, and there I'll stay for only a month. I'll be back here in Hirakatashi next semester, and I'll live out most of my life in Tokyo. I have no reason to mourn for this country, for I will never really lose it. Japan and I have a rich future together. Until last night, I didn't feel the slightest sense of loss at the prospect of going back to New York for the holidays.
But when I watched Kat walk away, last night, away down the familiar stretch of sidewalk - that's when it hit me.
I'm not leaving - not for long, and certainly not for good.
But there are people here that I have grown to love, in such a short time, that will never be back.
Tonight, before I left for Daddys, I hugged Yuki and Jacqui goodbye; and for the first time, I cried. I will never again live with them. We won't make pancakes on Sunday morning, anymore, or laugh over dinner, or watch Dawson's Creek for lack of anything better to do. Our lives together, as roommates, are over.
So many of our lives together are over.
There's facebook, of course, and email, and phone calls. There's the prospect of future visits - traversing the globe to reunite, and reminisce about our time here. There's the memories that we will carry and treasure for the rest of our lives, wherever we live them.
But there will never be another Fall 2006 semester. Things will never be the same.
Jessie left today, with Patrick, solemn and somber, to guide her to the airport. Tomorrow morning, Ethan will follow me to KIX only hours behind. Christy will fly home to San Diego two days from now, and Matt will be soon after her, headed back to West Virginia. So many of us won't be here come January. Daddy's Shoes will never be the same. And it saddens me, to think that these people - these former strangers, whom I have grown to care for so deeply in a mere three and a half months - will scatter across the globe once more, never again to spend our days together, to share our lives.
I saw Kat for the last time, tonight, in a dark side street. I hugged her, and kissed her, and cried on her shoulder. And I realized, with my arms around her, the full magnitude of what I am losing; my new, short life in Hirakata is scattering like ashes into the wind, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand, washed away in the tides of life.
But I'm lucky, truly lucky, to feel the pain of this loss - for if it didn't hurt, it wouldn't truly have been worth it. We only cry for the things that we have loved - and love is what turns this world, when all is said and done. Love is all we have to live for.
I will miss them, every one of them. Kat, and Matt, and Jessie - Christy and Jacqui, Yuki and Ethan, and Dave. Even Jason, I'll miss, in a strange way.
But the memories of what we have shared will stay with me forever.