I hate goodbyes.
Maybe it’s because I’ve never truly had to say goodbye. I’ve never had to move cross country, move to another country; the only time I’ve moved is from Rowland Heights to Diamond Bar when I was four years old. I spent the good years of my childhood, adolescence, and teenage years in Diamond Bar – riding my bike to the liquor store down Pathfinder and eventually attempting to race friends (in a 4runner if you can believe) down Diamond Bar Blvd. So naturally, the first real goodbye I had to say was the goodbye before I left for Berkeley.
It was awful. I couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop wishing time had stopped, couldn’t control the influx of pain and heartache that resurfaced every second along the span of the 5 freeway. It was the longest drive of my life and I would never want to relive it, perhaps not even for a grandiose amount of money, the sheer pain of the moment nearly killed every ounce of optimism I had.
Looking back, I think I hated that goodbye because of what it meant. I had to say goodbye to everything I knew, my childhood, the memories left from high school, and the people that have stood by me watching me grow, nurturing me step by step. It was my first goodbye. And firsts are always the hardest.
And since then, it seems my life has been constantly on the run. I can’t even remember a time when I’ve sat, just thinking, reflecting. I don’t remember a moment when I didn’t feel at a standstill. Even a year and a half later from that first goodbye. It’s funny, right before my mass comm final I was talking to my friend Carol online and we both said we wanted to be in the entertainment industry. So she said to me, “maybe we’ll see each other when we grow up” and it got to me. She said “when we grow up”. I made some sarcastic comment about how we’re already grown up but even at that moment, I realized the truth in what she was saying. I’m not grown up. In fact, it hardly seems I’ve grown at all since I was sixteen. I’m just a kid, terrified of her seemingly hopeless future, with big ideas and big dreams of being somebody amidst all the savvy gurus in the entertainment business.
A year ago I bolted out of Berkeley, awarding myself with a five week winter vacation.
Half a year ago I was packed, ready to leave the dorms two days before my last finals. And an hour after my last final, I was on the 5 again. This time, with all my stuff collected from my freshmen year in college packed away in boxes sitting in the backseat of my 4runner, leaving behind a year of adjusting and learning the system; this time, I was going home.
Was it different? Not really.
But nothing ever was like that first goodbye I had to say. In fact, the goodbye said just a mere four months ago wasn’t really a goodbye. It was a “see you soon” type of deal. Because I had already left a huge part of me here, at home, a year before.
This past semester was by far the best semester I’ve had here at Berkeley. And I’m beginning to really see truth in what everyone always said. That it takes a year for Cal to grow on you – you don’t like it so much the first year, but by the end of your junior year, you love it. And I never thought I’d say this, but I’m beginning to really like Berkeley. Despite the many drunkards asking for change, the scariness of walking the dark streets at night, and even the windy rain, it’s not a hellhole anymore. It’s, dare I say, a second home? But the semester was great not just because of my newfound affection for Cal but because people made it great. Because Angela and Julie waltzed into my life and wanted to be my friend, even with my sarcasm and all! Because it feels second nature to hang out with them, because I can make myself at home at their apartment, because they make me laugh, because we have so much fun together, because they’re there, the way true friends are there. Because one afternoon a mere month ago, Angela sat with me for three hours and gave me a reason to smile after my tears watered the lawn at Memorial Glade. Because Bren, Emi, and Eliza live only five minutes away and because my friendship with each and every one of them has grown and gotten deeper since our high school days. Because I can recall memories with each of them from our drama laden days of being sixteen to our live struggles throughout college. Because I’ve met and forged friendships with people in my classes – there is one good thing about attending class! And of course, because I have the best roommates in the world who are there, even at five am making me laugh as my eyes are about to shut down, with the rest of my body mashed into the crack between my bed and the wall since the three of us stubbornly believe we can all fit on my twin.
I haven’t said thank you. So thank you. So so much.
I said goodbye this past week to an amazing semester. And for the first time, I was sad as I left Berkeley. And perhaps, this time, I’ll be slightly more excited to return in January. I think I will be.
Maybe it’s because I’ve never truly had to say goodbye. I’ve never had to move cross country, move to another country; the only time I’ve moved is from Rowland Heights to Diamond Bar when I was four years old. I spent the good years of my childhood, adolescence, and teenage years in Diamond Bar – riding my bike to the liquor store down Pathfinder and eventually attempting to race friends (in a 4runner if you can believe) down Diamond Bar Blvd. So naturally, the first real goodbye I had to say was the goodbye before I left for Berkeley.
It was awful. I couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop wishing time had stopped, couldn’t control the influx of pain and heartache that resurfaced every second along the span of the 5 freeway. It was the longest drive of my life and I would never want to relive it, perhaps not even for a grandiose amount of money, the sheer pain of the moment nearly killed every ounce of optimism I had.
Looking back, I think I hated that goodbye because of what it meant. I had to say goodbye to everything I knew, my childhood, the memories left from high school, and the people that have stood by me watching me grow, nurturing me step by step. It was my first goodbye. And firsts are always the hardest.
And since then, it seems my life has been constantly on the run. I can’t even remember a time when I’ve sat, just thinking, reflecting. I don’t remember a moment when I didn’t feel at a standstill. Even a year and a half later from that first goodbye. It’s funny, right before my mass comm final I was talking to my friend Carol online and we both said we wanted to be in the entertainment industry. So she said to me, “maybe we’ll see each other when we grow up” and it got to me. She said “when we grow up”. I made some sarcastic comment about how we’re already grown up but even at that moment, I realized the truth in what she was saying. I’m not grown up. In fact, it hardly seems I’ve grown at all since I was sixteen. I’m just a kid, terrified of her seemingly hopeless future, with big ideas and big dreams of being somebody amidst all the savvy gurus in the entertainment business.
A year ago I bolted out of Berkeley, awarding myself with a five week winter vacation.
Half a year ago I was packed, ready to leave the dorms two days before my last finals. And an hour after my last final, I was on the 5 again. This time, with all my stuff collected from my freshmen year in college packed away in boxes sitting in the backseat of my 4runner, leaving behind a year of adjusting and learning the system; this time, I was going home.
Was it different? Not really.
But nothing ever was like that first goodbye I had to say. In fact, the goodbye said just a mere four months ago wasn’t really a goodbye. It was a “see you soon” type of deal. Because I had already left a huge part of me here, at home, a year before.
This past semester was by far the best semester I’ve had here at Berkeley. And I’m beginning to really see truth in what everyone always said. That it takes a year for Cal to grow on you – you don’t like it so much the first year, but by the end of your junior year, you love it. And I never thought I’d say this, but I’m beginning to really like Berkeley. Despite the many drunkards asking for change, the scariness of walking the dark streets at night, and even the windy rain, it’s not a hellhole anymore. It’s, dare I say, a second home? But the semester was great not just because of my newfound affection for Cal but because people made it great. Because Angela and Julie waltzed into my life and wanted to be my friend, even with my sarcasm and all! Because it feels second nature to hang out with them, because I can make myself at home at their apartment, because they make me laugh, because we have so much fun together, because they’re there, the way true friends are there. Because one afternoon a mere month ago, Angela sat with me for three hours and gave me a reason to smile after my tears watered the lawn at Memorial Glade. Because Bren, Emi, and Eliza live only five minutes away and because my friendship with each and every one of them has grown and gotten deeper since our high school days. Because I can recall memories with each of them from our drama laden days of being sixteen to our live struggles throughout college. Because I’ve met and forged friendships with people in my classes – there is one good thing about attending class! And of course, because I have the best roommates in the world who are there, even at five am making me laugh as my eyes are about to shut down, with the rest of my body mashed into the crack between my bed and the wall since the three of us stubbornly believe we can all fit on my twin.
I haven’t said thank you. So thank you. So so much.
I said goodbye this past week to an amazing semester. And for the first time, I was sad as I left Berkeley. And perhaps, this time, I’ll be slightly more excited to return in January. I think I will be.
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