Our last day at 15 May.
Last days are such precious things. Everything passes by in a heightened blur – senses are sharpened, but all at once, and the mind copes with the overload by muddling everything together. Even though it’s not as if we’ll never be able to come back again, we will never be able to replicate the experience, the people, the process.
Debriefing the high school mentees in the morning, one last time. Discussing the previous day’s mini-projects at the two shelters, chatter and voices filling the room that we had painstakingly cleaned, what, only eleven days ago?
Lunch, generously hosted by 15 May. Banh Xeo (is that what the pancake thing is called?), fried rice noodles, amazing spring rolls. Lychees and rambutans, and for the finale, a huge kem cake.
Project presentations – all of us sitting in our seats, eager yet apprehensive to watch and listen to our mentees share the fruits of their hard work. Words of advice, comments, questions, answers, from mentors and mentees alike. Hearing mentees speak up, when ten days ago they wouldn’t have dared. Watching mentees supporting each other and complementing each other during presentations, when five days ago we would doubt it happening. Applause and encouragement, all around.
One last glance into the room where we’d held workshops, played insane games, shared deeply with our mentees, had random conversations with each other, laughed and worked and played and talked for ten days. One last handshake, one last smile, one last photo with 15 May, the people and the place.
Saying goodbye is always hard. The blow is softened by knowing that we have left bits of ourselves in kids’ hearts, in painted letters on white walls, in laptops in a new computer lab, in the English curriculum and activities, in people we’ve had the privilege of interacting with, in the friends we have made.
Final dinner, “everyone dress nicely please”, so we did. A room, air conditioned to make up for the trek up and down stairs to get to the food (buffet). Good food, better company. Mouths busy with food and words, a happy noise. Penning memories, things about other people, even a love letter or two – “Your voice haunts my dreams, just like the roaring howl of the lone wolf declaring his love for the lunar goddess. But she is far away, in a place I cannot be. Where are you now Misha? With Mike?” And then, going round to find people, giving words of thanks with knots. Wrists encircled with red and yellow and the occasional white of a paper napkin. Lots of thanks, knots of thanks.
Some things never end; they simply head off in new directions.
– Gayle Esther Lee
