For the last four years, I have had problems with throwing things away, saying goodbye, and moving. But, already for more than a week, I have to gather the courage to sort out the things to be packed or thrown away.
I looked at the papers I have not thrown away for more than three years. Mostly these are immigration papers, letters from school, bank letters, insurance letters, work and housing letters, tax letters, phone and internet bills, … – did I tell you I have problems with throwing things away?
And I found the very first paper that got me in here. The acceptance letter as a full time student at that school in Breukelen. I was contemplating whether I should throw it away, or keep it for memories. Not being able to decide, I went along with the sorting out. I found also the letter from the exam committee stating the date for my thesis defense, along with the acceptance letter at the work I am currently in, along with the letter from the Embassy of the Koninkrijk der Nederlanden confirming the status of my entry application.
And the last four years flashed before my eyes.
I remember those freezing nights when I had to go to the main building of the school, to copy some of the articles for my thesis. I remember how many times I had to carry a 10kg bag pack while pulling 20kg traveling bag whenever I had to travel back home. I remember days when I had to walk so quickly until my feet bled to catch that train, otherwise I would be one hour late at the office. I remember those days when I had to stay up until 3 AM to finish school assignments or study for exams. I remember my first touch of the thick snow in March 2005. I remember how frustrating it was not being able to understand what was written in the letters from the Immigration Service. I remember the walking to and from the office for one hour everyday. I still remember being lost in Amstel and Amsterdam, trying to find the building for work interviews which made me late for more than half an hour but still got the job anyway. I remember everything.
This whole place has got stories for me. Sad and happy stories. Tears and laughter. Frustrations and hopes. New people I’ve befriended, old friends who’ve gotten closer to my heart, the missing feeling of home, the knowing that I will miss this place terribly after I’m gone. But I have to move on.
With four more weeks to go, I still don’t have the heart to press that button that says yes to my departure flight. A one way flight. Not knowing when I will be back, or whether I will ever be back. And I looked at the boxes lying around in my apartment, having not much strength to put stuff into them. Not because I’m tired. I just want to feel the memories before I put them away. Putting my stuff into those boxes confirms my fear of goodbyes. Leaving means throwing things away. But I have to move on.
Two days ago, Lin, one of my adventure mates went back to Indonesia for good. I know we will be spending time together as much as we spent our time together here, for sure. But realizing that we won’t have the same atmosphere that we have here in Holland cracked my heart a little bit. We both were quite strong not to shed tears when saying goodbye. But we both knew darn well, that it was not our friendship that we were saying goodbye to. It was the memories that brought us into such good friends that we were saying goodbye to. And I got off the train that took her to Schiphol as fast as I could, trying to prevent myself from crying. Moving on gave me no time to be sentimental.
It was the leap year when I arrived in Holland. It is also the leap year when I have to leave Holland. Doesn’t that mean something? The last four years have been the leap for my life. I had to stretch myself beyond the strength I thought I never had. Hoping the future will be shiny.
Of course there are pictures of the places I have been, with the friends I have spent time with. But the best pictures are the ones I keep in my heart. Flashbacks of moments that can never be captured by any video-cams or cameras.
And I realize, tomorrow, I have to press the ‘yes’ button for that flight.
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Tussen 2004 - 2008, heb ik in Nederland gewoond.
3 comments:
Partir c'est mourir un peu (Leaving is a little like dying).
A beautiful post. I guess a lot of people know these feelings. But it needs someone who can write to recall them.
Although we've hardly met during these four years, I sincerely hope that - if you actually press the button- you at once decide to come back.
hemm well i wish that you never hit that button to go to SG anyway. i do hope imme got the job here :( otherwise within two months two mates will leave me here at the windy NL.
still remember first time you came to our home in utrecht. very funny to see you with those 10 kg backpack. all the best for SG. definitely love to see you before you go to SG and even better perhaps there in SG.
@colson and bonnie: i have pressed that button. it took me another week to gather the energy to press it. Rtm is at its coldest these days, but all i can remember is its warmth of summer.
ik probeer om terug te komen na het rotterdam station gerepareerd heeft. (mijn excuus, want mijn nederlands is nog niet goed... maar ik probeer! hehehe)
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