As I write this, I am lying in the familiar comfort of my own bed in Malaysia for the third last night. It is 2:45AM, my overstuffed suitcases make the way to the door a treacherous obstacle course, and sleep has definitely escaped me at this point.
I never thought packing up to move halfway across the planet would be so … trying on the heart. Yes, having spent the last two years of high school in another country on my own, I’ve done this living away from home thing before … So you’d expect it to be easier this time around, right?
Nope. Because no matter how much practice in running through airports and sitting on suitcases to make them close I’ve had, I suck at goodbyes.
Don’t get me wrong: Without a doubt, I am totally psyched about the big Jumbo adventure that lies right around the corner – all signs received thus far have been hugely positive, and I cannot wait to get going!
Yet, another part of me nibbles at my tangled-up mess of emotions – induced by the rising excitement of the US college dream coming true, the nerves of a new environment, the definite bittersweet feeling of moving away from home (again) … leaving me in a state of flux that I haven’t truly figured out how to explain.
Because really, how do you put into words what it feels like, to attempt to fit the past two decades of your life into two suitcases, not exceeding 23kg each?
To realize that this is probably the last time the small town you grew up in for 17 years will be the place you can call home permanently?
Or to try to come to terms with the idea of departure, of letting go and moving on, of being brave enough to embrace growing into a different, hopefully better version of myself … while things at home still remain largely the same?
This time around, leaving is hard – not because I’m afraid of what lies ahead (I think my excitement still far outweighs the nerves), but simply because I know what I’ll be missing out on, what I have no choice but to leave behind.
It’s not just about tradition-laced Chinese New Year festivities, or big family gatherings during birthday celebrations; these last few weeks have made me painfully aware of the little moments I’ll be missing.
Like the epic stories of elementary school catfights my cousins recount at the dinner table; the quiet lull of Sunday afternoons, between reading the paper on the couch, and hanging out with Mom at one of those awfully hipster cafes in town; the dilemma of what to buy each family member for lunch, when it’s my turn to get “mixed rice” from the neighbourhood stall under the tree; the “emergency meetings” my extended family likes to call (which often turn out to be over simple matters) although the hilarious discussions still go on for hours.
I’ve never been the kind of girl to enjoy staying put at home, but I guess the experience of absence does make the heart grow fonder. As writer Dodie Smith put it, family is “that dear octopus from whose tentacles we never quite escape, nor in our innermost hearts never quite wish to."
Yet, as much as I’d love to stay, I know that a whole world lies ahead, waiting to be explored. More often that not, it is good – and even necessary – to step out of the bubble you’ve grown used to, and immerse yourself in a new environment that presents you with so many different elements and possibilities.
Time has been ridiculously kind, in allowing me just the right number of sappy moments and quiet nights back home over these past eight months before I go.
On this side of the planet, I am thankful for the extraordinary chance of getting to meet the wonderful people I have, being allowed to share their stories and quickly having them become integral parts of mine.
There is no perfect resolution to departure’s knack for tugging at heartstrings; all that’s left to do, as time races past us, is to soak up every single moment we have left in this warmth.
And then, as we each take turns to step away – for now – from what is familiar, precious, what is home to us, let us venture forth into the adventures ahead, leaning into the unknown, with gusto, hope and love.
“Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.”
- Jack Kerouac