I dream and plan and long for things/circumstances/situations that I do not yet possess.
However, when it happens, I feel sadness and angst about what I am letting go.
It makes no sense really and yet I have been plagued with this ridiculous affliction my entire life.
For SOOOOOO long I struggled being a missionary kid, a third culture kid, living between two worlds but truly belonging to neither.
And then suddenly without warning, it was time to go.
Time to embrace the American life I had so longed for.
The day I was to leave is burned into my memory like it was yesterday.
Packing up my life, deciding what to prioritize in my two suitcase allotment, and what to get later when I would come back, but only to visit.
How do you say goodbye to a place that shaped you?
To the people who held your hand while you grew up?
To the setting that bottled your first tears, your first love, your first heartbreak?
I climbed up the ladder, hoisting myself onto the rooftop -- my favorite childhood, girlhood, adolescent space to breathe. Walking the breadth of the space, I imprinted the scene into my memory from every angle, willing my mind not to forget the smells, the sounds, the images that influenced my entire upbringing.
Oh, how do you say that last goodbye?
How do you let go of a pivotal time of your life?
How do you walk away?
I remember the last look, standing on the balcony by the black gate, preparing to descend the stairs, burning the scene into my memory. Mom quickly walked down the stairs, unable to watch my melancholy, with her own threatening to overwhelm.
And finally down I followed.
Closing one chapter.
Preparing for the next one.
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