Goodbye Is A Dirty Word

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Throughout our lives we will say goodbye many times. Most of us say “goodbye” in some form every day. Somehow, when taken out of context, goodbye seems so permanent. I’ve had my fair share of all too emotional goodbyes, some permanent, some not. The one goodbye I wish I could have said came too late for it to mean anything to its recipient and that moment, that goodbye, will haunt me in some way for the rest of my life.

I’ve told this story countless times, but it’s worth mentioning again here. The last night I spoke to my father—the last time I saw him alive—I almost left the house without saying goodbye. I yelled up to his office on the second floor to say “see you on Friday” as my friends and I tried to quickly exit and be on our way to Halloween celebrations. He called down for me to wait and he came downstairs to where we were, in the kitchen, almost through the door. He gave me a big hug and what could have been seen as an embarrassing parent kiss and said: “You know we don’t leave without a hug and a kiss and saying I love you. You never know when the last time will be.”

Well, people, that was the last time. Lesson learned. If someone means something to you, if you love them, before you leave you better tell them. You never know when the last time will be.

Rolling my eyes I smiled and said “I love you” and left with my friends. Two days later I would be called out of class to receive the most devastating news of my life. I would have to say my final goodbye to a blue-turning corpse in a cold, uncomfortable hospital room as my world quickly fell to pieces.

These days I say “I love you” a lot. Maybe too much for some people. When I hang up the phone, when I leave a night out or get on a bus to go home I remember to say “goodbye,” “see you tomorrow,” and usually “I love you.” Before it’s too late, I want to say my final goodbyes to the people and place I have called home for the last eight months. There are four more months left on my contract in Korea and after that, I’m gone from here for the foreseeable future. Many of my friends are leaving before that. Some have even seemingly decided to make it easier on themselves by not saying goodbye, not leaving, and just silently slipping away. That one really stings, but to each their own.

After living, studying abroad and making a family in Australia, goodbyes came too soon. I cried…a lot. Not for the people I was leaving, because, ultimately, I can see them again. I cried for the circumstance. I cried because never again in my life will I be in that place, with those people, in the same mindset, ever again. It’s almost like mourning for a time you can never get back. It’s almost as hard as mourning for a person you’ll never get back.

In a few short weeks someone I’ve become extremely close to over the last few months will leave. A couple weeks after that, another will go. And this will continue until I make my final exit to sweatier pastures in August. Before you all leave and we become swept up into another world and another life adventure, I want to tell you all how much I love you. Without you, this year would not have been what it was and my life would not become what it is about to. I’ve fallen in love over and over again with the kindness, sincerity, humor, stability and support of your beautiful souls and I cannot say thank you enough.

The first one to leave will be the hardest to let go. Because of who this person is, how much I love them and because they’re first. I’ve always ALWAYS said that leaving is the easy part. The people left behind suffer far more than the person moving on. They leave for new adventures, excitement, chaos and uncertainty. They get wrapped up into a new world and are constantly on the go. It is the people left behind who truly mourn for their presence. In a way it’s like living with a ghost. One that you still talk to and love unconditionally, but that is obviously, noticeably not physically around you anymore.

I have a habit of running away from this feeling. I don’t want to feel sad or like I’ve lost a piece of me, or like my perfect little circle of trust is crumbling around me. But this time I have no choice. I am contractually obligated to stick this shit out, grin and bear it. Choice or no choice there is only one remedy for these feelings and this situation. It is to stay ever-present in the moment. Don’t look too far ahead or behind each day, but remember to appreciate all that you have RIGHT NOW, here, at this moment, because soon it won’t be the same. And once that change is made, you will never get back what you have now.

Life and people are transient, and that’s the beauty in it all. People change, circumstance changes. You always have the opportunity to be with those people again, in another way, but while we’re here, right now, I say we celebrate and raise (several) glasses to the love we have found in each other.

I love you all so very much and I will carry you and your influence with me wherever I go. Thank you for being the best family I could have dreamed of.

Love Always,
Kate

Commencement Considerations

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For those of you unaware of the school calendar in Korea, each school year begins in early March, and ends just before Seollal (Lunar New Year) in February. (They also have about four weeks’ vacation in January…which makes no sense to me, but that’s not the point). This means that my sixth graders are graduating elementary school and heading off to middle school. In America, this was exciting and scary, but not particularly momentous. In Korea, it’s more scary than exciting and it’s important enough to require a graduation ceremony.

Lots of kids don’t really look forward to middle school because this is where their childhood goes to die, essentially. Schooling in Korea is crazy intense and I never spend one day envying their lives. Many of them already attend Hagwons, or private academies, after school hours in addition to their public schooling. Often these kids will be in their school after school for hours, sometimes until 10-11pm. This all really ramps up in middle school, peaking heavily in high school because their college entrance tests are basically the most important job they have as kids. Unfortunately, Korea has one of the highest suicide rates for a developed nation due to this intensive schooling. Up until a few years ago, school was held Monday through Saturday, even.

Sometimes I get sad for the childhood they seem to be missing out on. But honestly, all of their friends are basically on the same level and if they didn’t attend these Hagwons, it’s likely they wouldn’t really have anyone to hang out with outside of them anyway. It’s all relative, more or less, and I do my best not to presume that my childhood was any better or worse than theirs seems to be. It is hard, sometimes, when I see kids falling asleep in class, or when they tell me that, rather than taking a break during holidays or vacation, they spent their time at the Academy. But such is the way of life in Korea and many don’t really know that it’s any different than kids from other countries.

For me, graduation is bittersweet. I mean, I barely know (most) of these kids, but I can’t help but feel proud that they’re doing well, growing up and moving on. However the ones I’ve connected with have left a permanent mark in my soul and I can’t help but miss them. There’s really one girl that has made an impact on me these last five months. She’s taught me a lot about curiosity, social customs and perseverance in Korea.

박수빈 is an average-height, slender sixth grade girl. She has straight, mid-length black hair and is always smiling. She also has the English proficiency of someone much, much younger. In fact, I can communicate better with some of my third grade students than I can with her. That hasn’t stopped her from trying, however. The very first day I arrived in Gwangju, I met her. She was SO EXCITED to meet the new English teacher. I thought it was a phase, feeling out the new teacher, but soon she was visiting me for up to an hour after school, usually once a week. As I said, she has very little English and I have even less Korean at my disposal. Together we would mime, draw, guess, translate and teach one another things we thought were useful to the conversation (me to her) or in life (her to me). That girl just wanted to spend time with me, and the more she came by, the more I wanted to spend time with her, too.

A couple months ago her father passed away. Many of you know that when I was 16, my dad died suddenly. It blew my world to pieces and when I heard the news, my heart broke for her. But there she was, a couple days later, in my class. It took her a couple weeks to get back to the never-ending smiles, but her spirit never broke. What a strong fucking kid, man. I wanted more than anything to tell her my story and let her know I was there for her, but I couldn’t, and I haven’t. Maybe it’s a good thing. I was still there for her after school and during class, and our relationship didn’t change. Sometimes, when everyone else is giving you pity, all you want is to feel normal. Maybe this relationship and language barrier were meant to be. At this point, all I know is that she is someone I will never forget. As a new teacher, both in life and in Korea, she was excited to meet me and genuinely liked me…and I feel like that’s half the battle.

I often look back on my schooling and think about the teachers who had an influence on me in more than an academic way. And honestly, I think my father’s death had a lot to do with that. I was supported by teachers I was close to, and became closer with those whose advice I sought in the wake of it all. I’m so grateful that I have maintained a genuine relationship, of one kind of another, with several of these teachers (GV, Pernice, I’m lookin’ at you). This is a whole different feeling, though. Now I’m the teacher and the student is the person impacting me. I wonder if I’ve made an impact like that on any of my teachers growing up. Frankly, looking back, I’m hoping whatever impression I may have left was positive and not negative…I was a rough teenager.

Tomorrow is the commencement for my visiting school. 박수빈 graduated last Friday at my main school. I’m profoundly grateful for her spirit and that of many of the students leaving school. I really didn’t think it would move me in such a way, but here I am being introspective and sentimental. I miss these kids already. If I have nothing else to show for my first year of teaching when I leave Korea, I will treasure the impact these students have had on me. I miss them already.