Written on 23 March 2015.
I do not like saying goodbye.
I do not like spending time with people and wondering if it might be the last time I see them for a while, or forever.
I do not like packing up the room that has become my home over the past two months. Even if I’m only moving a few houses down the street, I still have to abandon the space that first provided me sanctuary in this new city.
I do not like the inevitable business that comes with tying up loose ends.
I do not like the truth I find in Kathy B’s final words in Never Let Me Go: “We all complete. Maybe none of us really understand what we’ve lived through, or feel we’ve had enough time.”
I do not like feeling like I have not had enough time.
Of course, this ending, the ending of Hilary Term in Oxford, is twofold–and certainly not entirely bad. In a few short days, I will be traveling to Portugal, and then to France, and then to Italy, and then to Switzerland, and then back to Oxford for a second term in this unreal city. Indeed, for me, the closing of this term is not as much of an ending as an intermission. The second act of my time here will begin shortly.
Nevertheless, many of the people around me are officially done— graduated, or moving home, or pursuing things entirely new, and entirely separate from anything involving me. Perhaps its egocentric, and certainly its hypocritical, but I don’t like the idea of people leaving me. They should not be allowed to do that. (To all my friends back in California, I feel I understand better now why you kept asking me to not leave at the end of last semester. Regardless of how positive everyones’ potential futures may be, the fact that this requires them to move on from me is, frankly, lame.)
I find I’m nostalgic for a period in my life that isn’t entirely over yet, but I know, before long, that it will be.