The Sound of Goodbye

Here I sit on a trans-pacific flight, a tag groggy after a light nap. I am embarking (or perhaps disembarking) on a great adventure. Today finds me leaving my much-loved country of Japan, the land I have called home for as long as I could identify a ‘home’, and the land that has been my actual physical home for fourteen of my twenty years. This departure comes with a feeling of sadness, more aptly described by ‘pang‘ then the ‘tinge’ I have felt so often before when boarding an aircraft for a foreign country. Indeed, sometimes I have felt very little sorrow when leaving Japan, but I was much younger back then, and a lot less wise.

As a missionary kid who is uprooted every at least every four years and forced to adapt to a new environment, I have never been a stranger to change. Most time I faced it with courage, ready to tackle the new challenge ahead with the support of a loving family and a rambunctious younger brother. In truth, change is now so ingrained in me that I find myself feeling uneasy and yearning for a new setting every few years, a change of routine that I can re-accustom myself too. Yes, I have become accommodated to travel - to constantly seek broader horizons and brighter vistas.

So then, in light of that explanation, what set of circumstances have me feeling pangs of sorrow upon what will be my 25th airplane flight in 20 years? The answer is pretty straight forward - every other time, I had plans of returning. This time I embark for the United States unsure of when I will return to Japan, the closest place to a home that I have. I will arrive in America with plans to begin work, purchase vehicular transportation, and launch out on my own. I cannot do this in Japan. Japan, as it stands now, represents a safe place; somewhere too familiar for me to take risks and challenge myself. At this point in my life, I feel that I can do no more growing in Japan. I need a change. And for the first time in my life I have no plans made to return to my parents. I believe this is healthy for me.

But it is not easy. Tearful goodbyes were said to my mother and father. People who are close friends of mine in Japan I shared a last beer with; unsure of when I will see them again.

At the same time, the silver lining is bright. One of the upsides of the missionary-travel lifestyle is that almost everyone you know travels just as much as you do, and therefore you always have an a completely unexpected reunion to look forward too. (Who would have known that you would both happen to be in Tierra del Fuego in October!) A lifetime of traveling has made us flexible, and spontaneous schedule changes cause unexpected meetings. These moments I can look forward too. A goodbye can never be fully accepted, because hope is always present.

This past weekend then I fully packed up my room, loaded my suitcases in the car, and rode with my dad to the airport. Long car rides like that are always so hard. On one hand you want to get as much conversation as possible, with this person whom you are soon to leave, into the ever-diminishing time remaining. On the other hand, conversation is very hard to force. If you genuinely don’t have anything to talk about, you end up waiting for your plane alone, full of manufactured regret. Fortunately, this did not happen to me this time around. The goodbye with my father was of course quite hard. I respect the man so much, and it is hard to part with someone who you know loves you and wants what’s best for you, even if that means you leaving him. Holding back the tears I made my way to the gate.

As I rounded a corner I saw a shop attendant standing in front of her duty-free store with a plate of free samples. “Man, what a boring job,” I thought. Seriously, who wants to stand there all day holding a tray? What was on the tray, however, a complimentary shot of a premium Scotch, was very much appreciated and immediately brought a smile to my face. God bless Japan.

All of the mundane boarding procedures went smoothly, and I soon found myself sitting in a seat with ample legroom. I whipped out a book on Leninism that I had stuck in my briefcase and proceeded to devour chapter one and regurgitate detailed notes, all the while munching on the complimentary, well-packaged pretzels and sipping a can of Sapporo beer. Though there is something very blue-collar and perhaps even proletariat about drinking beer and reading Lenin, they don’t quite go well together.

Also, yay for nice stewardesses. Yay!

I will soon land, get my life in order, and boldly take on whatever challenges come my way, knowing that my family and friends support me from afar. Which, when you think about it, is becoming closer and closer with each day that passes. Far is never too far when your whole life revolves around travel.