La Ultima Ves

The last month is always the worst. When the time draws near to leaving a place that I've lived for an extended period of time, there's a couple of warring instincts that alway arise within me. First, there's the strong sense of denial; the feeling that there's no reason to rush and that inertia will carry us through the end.  There's also that ambivalent feeling on whether to invest time and energy on new friends, new experiences, and new plans in the current place. And then there's the temptation to start saying goodbye.

I had planned on delaying the farewells to people until the last possible moment. But really, what is the last possible moment when you only see some people once a month or less. How does one say to a friend, a tailor, a shopkeeper, a favorite waiter at a restaurant: I'm leaving, and I don't know if I will ever see you again. So this will be the month of farewells. I will be constantly wondering if this will be the last time that I eat at my favorite burrito stand or see a movie at the VIP theater.  

Though I haven't scheduled my pack-out yet, I'm already planning my last weeks here. Going to see a few last baseball games since they only cost 50 pesos. Planning a trip to go see those New Mexico wineries that people always said I should go to. And I have to go the tailor to get my suits ready for training. There are last minute souvenirs to get, and farewell dinners to plan. 

This is the career we've chosen. Every two or three years we're going to be leaving a new place. There's no getting around the summers of goodbyes. But for every goodbye, there's a hello. For that, I am thankful. And hopefully, some of those goodbyes are going to be hasta la proxima ves, not adios.