Ask anybody who has the "honor" of being my company in watching movies. They will tell you how hysterical I sobbed whenever a character said goodbye. In our reality, which, perhaps more painful than movies since we encounter it firsthand, though not as dramatic, I don't seldom cry. But I shriek. Inwardly. Innately.
Back to when we were children, "goodbye" only meant "until tomorrow". The same rule applied to feud, to "mom-I-hate-her" or "I-don't-like-the-subs-teacher". As we grow up, we learn that some goodbyes are meant to be forever. In my account, I watched my cat buried beneath the earth when I was in fourth grade, and my grandpa--who was also my BFF!--in fifth grade. I watched my friends who moved to a new neighborhood because their house couldn't load their ever-enlarging family. Or those who moved to another school, another school, another country. I knew I wouldn't see them again, and it was me who always got left behind.
Middle school ended, and then and only then I realized, for the first time in forever, people didn't leave me. I drifted apart, too. Everything started to become more practical and less personal since then. Because when things reached their expiring date, I simply found somewhere else to be. It goes on in circle. It never stops. Even until now.
I've grown more accustomed to farewell. It doesn't stop me from choking my heart out whenever I see something gets closer to their due date, nevertheless. In my despair, I usually try to cling to the last moment. The last day as a member of a team, the last day at school, the last day before my beloved gets onto airplane and flies, flies away. But God doesn't let me play Him, doesn't allow me to freeze the time or set it in slow motion. Who is me anyway.
So things end, and my routine clears, my schedule empties. In first days, I would feel... hollow. Like a phantom. I take few breaths before settling into anything else.
But against my own judgment, I'm kinda fast on continuing to row my boat. I knew it some days ago, when my friend, somebody who always brings out the best in me, casually flipped her hair and shrugged,
"You know, I think it's funny, how you try to cling onto things as they end, but has the fastest beat in finding another thing to enjoy and fill the hole."I was aghast, because I never thought I was somebody who moved on first. I am melancholic that way.
"I'm not with you everyday, but look at your Instagram feeds and stories. How you laughed in those pictures, how you're laughing with me, right here, right now, after telling me you just broke up, your cat went missing, and your mom's sick. You're a present person, Cha."Her explanation just made everything crazier. And I realized it was inappropriate for me to laugh because my mom was sick. She still is, in fact. (Please, send her your best prayer.)
Yet, those words remain true to some degree. Recently, I lost my favorite kitten, Bola. Somebody gave up on me after seven bleeding years. My mom got sick. And... one I didn't tell her because it made me feel like a coward: I was crippled by fear of continuing my journey as a core committee team. Because the people are different and I loved my old team so very dearly. I held on to our last togetherness together: one trip to Pulau Seribu, one trip to Puncak.
But as much as God loves making me miserable by taking things from me, He also loves surprises. Bola's mother gave birth to four kittens. And even though they won't ever replace the love I have for Bola, they are mindblowingly, otherworldly cute. And I love them.
I didn't get instant replacement for my man. Instead, I was offered an internship as bilingual news editor/journalist in a humanitarian agency. Me, doing what I love (re: writing) for something that's always been my purpose (re: human rights and social justice). It was beyond my wildest dream. I was scared at first, but just like my friend said.... I made friends, I made my words count, I made it. I had my frantic times but I had fun. After my internship ended, I was offered another job as editor in environmental-based website, and teacher in my old place.
My mom is still fighting, and I am ready to wear my armor. She gets better everytime, and if that's not something to be thankful for, I don't know what it is.
As for being that team... yesterday we conducted actual farewell to the old team. And it was far from sadness; it was all cheer and merry. Nobody held grudges, nobody got angry, nobody got emotional. Everybody laughed, hugged each other, exchanged hellos, asked what they would do next. I had fun, too. And that farewell was actually well. Suited the name. (Spoiler: I usually think farewell should be fare[un]well.)
Last week, we conducted another event, and I had fun too. I always have fun! And I guess it doesn't matter where I go, people who I am with, things I do. For as long as I carry an open heart and open mind, things will always be alright and bring me joy.
And I realized my friend was right. I'm pretty much a present person. When things come to an end, I feel heavy to let it go because I think I will go back to my mundane life. But my life never goes mundane. I always have something exciting to do, friends to have good and long conversation with, family to welcome me home, passion to do. It constantly goes up and down and never static. And when I hit the moment when everything is laughter and dance and jokes, I soak through it: I exhale the high and live my feelings to the fullest, I forget to compare it with others.
And I always have that moment, somewhere, sometime. My adventure goes on.
This writing has gotten longer than I intended it to, HAHA, but here is it.
Here's to Bola, Refal, and Core Team 2016.
I love you and I had great adventure! We were on the same ship, but it's time we harbor at different transits. To head to our own destination.
Here's to my past, with gratitude.
My present, with openness.
And my future, with hope.
I will keep cruisin'.
