Patterns in goodbyes

There is a pattern in my goodbyes. They are always alloted less time than they really need - this is in order to ensure efficiency and limit the potential for my over-sentimentality.

Or maybe it is just a pointer to my horrible horrible time management skills.

The goodbyes generally involve beginning something new - normally this seems to be throwing myself into a new country and culture - one that I am not quite prepared for.

Excess luggage is a key feature. And there will usually be a moment when the world seems to be ending and I seem quite incapable of dealing with it. It is at this point that a friend will enter, like a knight in shining armour, and fix the blocked sink, or the fact that I don't know how to get to the airport or find my fuse box. This is also generally the point when I am closest to tears. Kindness in amongst chaos is more precious than the most poetic of speeches.

Our graduation was somewhat anticlimactic. Beautiful, surreal and far shorter than the weeks and even months of build-up had made it seem. With our ten minute Japanese speeches we finished up the twenty month scholarship and our lives became once more our own. Mel glowed in her kimono and perhaps, predictably, it left me feeling slightly forlorn - like we were children now all grown up and ready to make our way in the world.

One whole night of talking with Tina over Korean ginsing prepared me perfectly for the flight. It added a somewhat surreal quality when Greg showed up at 6.15 in the morning to accompany me to the airport. We sat over breakfast, bought with all the yen I had left in the world, and just like that, I was on a plane heading out.