RAISING A MIDDLE FINGER TO GOODBYES
I think there’s nothing more agonizing than having to say goodbye.
Au revoir, sayonara, good riddance. Whether you’re the one doing the dirty work or you’re at the receiving end, the level of sucky-ness doesn’t change one bit. With 24 years of rollercoaster rides, I’ve been and done both, and there was never a time that I liked being in either situation.
Over the years, breaking down after a send-off has become overrated. If I had a nickel for every farewell-inspired tear I’ve shed, I’ll probably be richer than him.
It’s hard to be in this situation. The next day, you’ve also got to deal with the world’s worst hangover, because as saying goodbye sucks, it’s the day after that sucks even more.
When someone in my life leaves (for whatever reasons and whether it’s temporary or permanent), the saying goodbye part still affects me, like seeing my crush parading his love for his longtime girlfriend all over Facebook. I wanted to just shout and say, “Fine, I freakin’ get it!”
To be honest, I’ve never really been good at dealing with the consequences of saying goodbye. Sometimes, I would sulk for hours without really getting over parting ways with someone. Other times, I would try to divert my attention, but when temporary distraction’s over and done with, the pain of separation still stings like a giant scorpion.
Days become too long to bear. It’s like watching a very bad movie and you can’t get the hell out of the theater because you foolishly paid for it way too expensively.
When my parents decided to move out of our old apartment to live in our present home in Cavite, I was too afraid to say goodbye to my friends. I thought that it was too impossible to go on without them that maybe I’d just ask my Dad to just let me stay. But I still had to do it. I still had to say goodbye. I couldn’t just walk away from everything without having to bid farewell to the people and to the place I’ve grown to love. I remember telling my childhood best friend weeks before leaving to write me a gazillion letters so that we could still keep in touch. Letters did come by. But the friendship, that fought hard to survive, didn’t. Or at least it wasn’t as good as it was before.
Every year, I have to bid farewell to my father, who had to work oceans away, so we can live as comfortably as we want. His stay here seems to have dragged an invisible hourglass and I dread for every minute till the sand’s last remaining drop.
When I fell in love for the first time, I had to say goodbye to someone who was too perfect and too messed up to be mine. I also bid farewell to someone who wanted the best for me, took care of me like no other but also took advantage to live my life. And to top it all off, I said goodbye to someone whom I really loved that I was willing to be quite irrational. But I let him go without trying to stop him, and let him go when he opted to stay.
I have to give kudos to Napoleon Bonaparte. At least, he conquered Europe and had his share of triumph before the Waterloo fiasco. In my world, I’d give anything for a little of the Corsican’s fate than not having won at all.
Note: This was an old blog entry I decided to tweak a bit. F8ck goodbyes.