while riding the bus to the hk airport a few days ago, i suddenly realized that, more often than not, i’m the one saying goodbye. well i usually shorten it to “bye”, since “goodbye” sounds much more formal and..final. as in..”bye” for good, if that makes sense.

and while i’m really lucky to get that chance -saying bye means i’m the one leaving for someplace new, or leaving that someplace new to go home – as compared to those who don’t get to travel and just stay put…. well sometimes i don’t think i like saying bye. in the end, i waste a few days afterwards thinking of what i’ve just left behind, not appreciating until later what lies in front of me. and then my time there flies by, and the cycle repeats itself. after all, you never know if you’ll ever see those people again. ok that sounded really morbid. and it’s one thing to think that when you’re seeing people you usually see plenty, but when you leave a place you’re not sure you’ll go back to, or leave a place you see once in a while…well that’s when i wonder. “will i ever go back? will i ever see them again?” and besides, we all know that keeping in touch is normally pretty much impossible unless regular face to face meetings or phone calls occur, despite all our good intentions.

anyway, i’ve gone and drifted off again. but while right now i think i don’t like being the one leaving all the time, the thought of “but what if that’s what you’re used to already” pops into my mind. and it’s a valid question… i, a self-proclaimed disliker of change, liker of all things consistent and of routine… what if all this makes me used to saying bye after a certain period of time? what if, when i start working after i graduate, i get tired of staying put for years and years? after all, my “routine” has been to stay in a place for awhile, get to know some people, and then up and leave. so while thinking that i would rather stay there forever instead of having to get used to a new environment and new conditions, well, it isn’t really true, is it?

does this qualify as a catch-22? or a paradox? would my words and ramblings even make any sense if i weren’t the one writing them out?

maybe i’m meant to be a philospher. or a stream-of-consciousness writer, in lines of faulkner’s sound and fury.

 

i read the trilogy of mr dave’s “child called it” books last week, and now i’m reading more of the available foster carer/foster child stories. it’s not something i recommend doing, reading all of those at once – the world becomes a little darker, the people a little crueler. but then again i have a better sense of how much foster parents go through (the good ones, at least) and how little they’re appreciated. and the stories that get published are the ones that end with hope, hope that indeed, love conquers all.

is there a job in which all i’d have to do is read fiction + memoirs? that’d be pretty amazing…

 

oh and hk was fun. lots more fun this year, as i actually went out instead of staying at home, reading and playing tetris on my game boy pocket =) one week spent there felt much longer than one week at UT or in SL… towards the end of the week i felt as if i’d been there for two or three…
but chances are i’ll be back before i know it, over winter break.

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