I remember many things from school and I have also forgotten many things. Nonentheless, I recall learning about a story's plot and how there will be a falling action after every climax. And hence, I do not know for sure, but perhaps this is the falling action to MY story.
*
I never liked the idea of showcasing my feelings or anything unnecessary for that matter, to the public because then you are allowing that person to judge you according to your thoughts and opinions at that isolated period of time without stepping back and examining the big picture. But then, I realised that caring too much or worrying too much about how people may label you is pointless. Haha. So, this post has a darker note to it but...oh well! :D After all, this is still part of my story.
10.31 p.m. 15 June 2011, Wednesday
As I sit here drowned beneath shipping boxes and an oversized suitcase, I try to step back and look at the big picture but frown in dismay. A distorted feeling creeps beneath my skin and continues to grow as it closes in. A feeling of irritated sadness of leaving a place I gladly call home. And a confused yet soft-spoken joy whispering in my ear of family and friend reunions which I have been waiting for. What did I do to have such a feeling? Did I think this feeling was even possible?
Happiness and sadness all built into one and creating the weirdest ball of emotions I have ever encountered in my life. It's like I'm at a fence with family on both sides - each not fully understanding how the other side feels and me being the only bridge to connect them in this world.
It is two weeks to departure/arrival and I feel...numb. I want to say ecstatic but I would be lying. I want to say sad but I would be lying. So... perhaps distressed? I am jumping up and down while having that stick stuck in my throat as each day is checked off. Packing has been bumpy and staring at these lumps of clothes, souvenirs, and stuff when I wake up every morning and go to bed every night piled up in a corner, I admit, is depressing at times.
For once, I may even feel like a hypocrite because I tell my family and friends how much I miss them and can't wait to go home while the thought of leaving my family here saddens me. What makes it all the worse is all the feelings and all that I say is true to both sides of the fence.
9.45 a.m. 22 June 2011, Wednesday
The door closed with a clang as I took in the whole image of the school gym once again. I plastered a funny smile on my face as I reminisced how ironic that I was here again despite having said goodbye to this place.
You can never say goodbye too many times.
It was Art Camp and the usual excessive smell of disinfectant floated by unnoticed by my nose as I stood preoccupied with other sights and sounds that mattered more. So selfish I was to bother as other kids shuffled in a line around me as I absorbed everything I could take in before it was gone. Minutes later, I snapped out of my reverie and my eyes flickered back toward the door as I saw one of my classmates from the Junior class standing by the water fountain.
We had just finished making a life-sized dragon from cardboard boxes, black garbage bags, oriental-looking table cloth, and pipe cleaners and the younger kids were testing it around the basketball court. After fifteen minutes of trusting the head of the dragon, the flow of kids just directed me out the gym as I remained lost in thought.
"Andrea, I didn't think you were still here," the deep voice startled me.
I paused for a millisecond - gathering my thoughts, before answering, "Oh, hey Ross! Yea, I'm still here." No matter how many times I've encountered that, the feelings I get when I respond never get old.
"So, when are you leaving?"
"I'll be... leaving next Tuesday." there was nothing else to fill the awkward silence after that apart from the words 'leaving' and 'next Tuesday' that kept ringing in my head.
Not wanting anymore attention than I already had on my departure, I did what I did best when I didn't want to talk about it - I changed the subject, "So...do you know when Pedro leaves?"
And the conversation goes on a little longer the way I wanted it to as we halt at the parking lot, probably 10 feet away from my friend's car. Strangely, I am standing quite a ways from him as I gesture towards the other school building oblivious of anything else.
"Well, I guess I won't be seeing you again," my friend's words sliced me ice cold.
I sigh and mumble a Yea.
"Nice knowing you, Andrea," I smile and let out a surprising chuckle and suddenly realised that this was the moment I always knew would come but never expected it to be so soon - I had to bid farewell (at least for now) to a world I was introduced to six months ago. We stepped toward each other and embraced. A powerful yet mutual embrace I wish I could give each and every person I crossed paths with during my stay in Montana. And with that embrace, I wish I could magically assimilate all the hopes I have for their families, blessings, joy, sadness, worries, and overwhelming gratitude I could never express just by saying words. Mere words.
"Thanks Ross. See you...in the future," I smiled as sincerely as I could as he hopped into his truck and tipped his imaginary cowboy hat just like a country boy, "Glad you got to know us Red Necks in Montana," and I smiled even wider than before.
I shuffled my legs and headed east and the truck growled to life and headed west. Until my friend and I, my school and I, my family and I, Montana and I
would meet again.
*
NOW, 24 June 2011, Friday
The sight of that slightly bigger blue-roofed house fill my mind. I recall it being an off-white colour not because they painted it that way but soiled by the car and scooter tracks circling the cement floor, the garage celing caving in at certain spots which papa was yet to fix, the peg lines I used to hang from when there were no clothes taking up the space, and the white chair swing I used to sit with mommy as she fed me my lunch on weekends.
When I close my eyes, EVERYTHING was real. I see my dog January with her long shaggy locks of black and white fur clumped up in several places from rolling in the mud right after a cleaning. In the house, I recall the image of my Kakak just standing by the sink wiping dishes and despite having her back at me, I always picture her looking out the window into the world of unknown. I don't remember where the peanut butter jar was always kept for I haven't had it since forever but I will not forget the time I ate it with a spoon. The good old grey fridge had a picture of my cousin and I standing in front of a water fountain and to my right the dining table brought back memories of eating dinner with papa - reducing my portion of rice thinking carbs were 'fattening' and sometimes forgetting to help mommy set the table mats. The living room is filled with photographs of my life - my family and I posing with a Chinese New Year background, a picture of me with my chin up and hands poised with a ballerina costume, and who could forget that old shoe rack at the corner.
Moving up a flight of stairs, I see my room and am instantly filled with the memory of school, exams, and books. It may not seem enjoyable to many but I just feel so relieved at the sight of it - this was where I studied and more importantly, where I gained so much knowledge. It was where I crammed Chemistry experiments in fear of my fate the next day of exams, where I solved math equations and felt so in tune with the numbers in my head, and where I slipped in a 10 minute nap on the bed when I thought I couldn't take anymore studying. This was the place I succeeded in reaching for the stars, fell a thousand miles, hit the ground, rolled in the dirt, got up, and said, "This time, I'm going for the moon."
The master bedroom has that smell to it that just spells HOME. I remember the fuzzy carpet between my toes, the bathroom that uses the bath tub as its makeshift sink because we never got around to fixing it, the office chair I used to twirl in as my parents and I munched on peanuts while watching our favourite chinese drama series. I remember stubbing my toe on papa's loud speakers flanked by bookshelves on the floor, the mirror of the dresser I stared at time and time again when mommy used to dry my long hair, and the coat rack that used to shield my violin case a very very very long time ago.
All of this feels so real and tangible. In two weeks, it truly will be.
Will it be how I pictured it? We shall see.
I miss this. And I love you both very very dearly :)
*
There are many things running through my head right now and the above are among the many things dancing in my head. There are some stories that are best left uncommented on and for the reader to draw his or her own lines to. Some stories are best explained unexplained. And this is one of them. I didn't think I could end this blog post without thoroughly going through this weird mixed feeling but after writing this much, I just think I can.
(:
I love you.
Who?
All of you.
