This past week or so has been pretty full-on, at least for me, what with meeting what felt like at least a million new people, getting 'orientated', getting in touch with my supervisor, wading through readings for classes, and being generally buzzed from the whole thing. I'm glad I had a quiet, fun weekend because the coming weeks look like they'll be a teensy bit stressful, if mostly in a good way.
My parents are leaving Tokyo tomorrow. They landed in Ankara on March 3 1974 and will arrive in Islamabad, appropriately enough, on March 3, 2008. It's been a pretty good run. Their stuff has been sent ahead and they're wrapping up their last-minute packing, interspersed with last-minute calls, last-minute visits, and last-minute last-minute stuff. I spoke to my father earlier today and, though Tokyo was the first posting we didn't 'do' together at all, the feeling was exactly the same as it's always been. Usually, once the place we've called home for one to four years is completely cleaned out, one or the other of us inevitably says, "It's all gone." Not in a despairing sort of way - after all, 'it' is now making its way to wherever we're going next - but it's still a feeling of emptiness. It's the statement that allows us that little bit of time we need to say goodbye to yet another life before we head off towards the next adventure. Today, when my father said it over the phone, I knew he wasn't just telling me but allowing himself to let go of this place that has been his home for the last few years. And, oddly, I had the same slightly choked up, slightly teary response I always do. I'm not sad - I visited them all of once and didn't know the place so leaving it doesn't mean much to me - but today, I'm there with my parents as they pack the last of their life in Japan up and walk onto the plane that will take them 'home'.
My parents are leaving Tokyo tomorrow. They landed in Ankara on March 3 1974 and will arrive in Islamabad, appropriately enough, on March 3, 2008. It's been a pretty good run. Their stuff has been sent ahead and they're wrapping up their last-minute packing, interspersed with last-minute calls, last-minute visits, and last-minute last-minute stuff. I spoke to my father earlier today and, though Tokyo was the first posting we didn't 'do' together at all, the feeling was exactly the same as it's always been. Usually, once the place we've called home for one to four years is completely cleaned out, one or the other of us inevitably says, "It's all gone." Not in a despairing sort of way - after all, 'it' is now making its way to wherever we're going next - but it's still a feeling of emptiness. It's the statement that allows us that little bit of time we need to say goodbye to yet another life before we head off towards the next adventure. Today, when my father said it over the phone, I knew he wasn't just telling me but allowing himself to let go of this place that has been his home for the last few years. And, oddly, I had the same slightly choked up, slightly teary response I always do. I'm not sad - I visited them all of once and didn't know the place so leaving it doesn't mean much to me - but today, I'm there with my parents as they pack the last of their life in Japan up and walk onto the plane that will take them 'home'.