Time to go

When I wake up, it will be time to go.
And I'm awake now.

I can feel the excitement as I get dressed, then drag my heavy suitcase slowly towards the airport. I've gone through these moments many times, but everytime, is a special time. Every goodbye is not just a goodbye. They are times when I often think back at what and who I'm saying goodbye to, and what I'm about to greet. For every goodbye is also a first encounter.

My colleagues at work 'celebrated' my leave with drinks and food yesterday afternoon. The whole day I was dreading to be the centre of attention, wondering what people will say about my time at the institute, and looking at the time as I finished the last few bits and pieces, while wondering how many minutes more till the farewell. And the party fared quite well. I received much praise, for my modesty, efficiency and friendliness. As I heard those words, I felt relieved. I was wondering whether I really did all that. And at the same time also wondering why I did not even notice the many things I have accomplished. Those doubts about whether people liked my presence or contributions slid away. My efforts, inputs and time spent, people saw and felt it. It was definitely a boost of confidence, something I desperately need, and long for. I can be proud that I've managed to touch people, to help them, albeit in a small way, but that's all I wanted.

I told everyone (again) of how grateful I am for all that has been given me the past year. I kept it short, because I've said and written to many already about my appreciation. The opportunities, challenges, encouragements, praises, advice and criticisms. Every moment a moment of learning, about myself, and about others. Truly, my first long-term work experience was successfully completed. I left, leaving the card and letter on my desk. Something I enjoy doing I guess...leaving notes for people to discover. To me, that keeps a part of me there, even when I'm actually not. And that's special. Again, 'writing says more', especially for a timid boy like me!

While going home for the from Leiden, I felt as if I have something to be proud of. The end of an 'era' I was thinking. I wondered when the next time will be when I again walk those steps to and from the law faculty. Not sure when, but I know someday soon again.

So now, a long road ahead.
It's a strange feeling that now I'm typing at home here, while in less than twenty-four hours I'll be in a different place, different time, with different people and in a different culture. It's a beautiful day today.

I can't contain my excitement of being in a plane, that rush of adrenaline when the roar of the engines lift us off the ground. I can see it now...little houses, green pasture, rivers and lakes, flower fields, matchbox cars... I will be looking down, imagining where the places all are. I'll be thinking, I've been there! And most of all, I'll imagine the people down there, busy in their daily routines and their activities.

I'll look out, as the world becomes smaller.
I'll be leaving home.

First, eleven hours to Bangkok. One hour stopover, then the final leg of the journey. When I think about that now, I'm have'kriebels in mijn buik' (that ichy feeling in your stomach when you're faced with something new and exciting.) Especially that final hour approaching Taiwan is always filled with anticipation, sometimes my hands even start to tremble slightly. I remember how amazingly beautiful it was as the plane approached from the south of the island last time.... Kenting Peninsular, Kaoshiung harbour, the lush green rice fields, the soaring mountain ranges, the sea of clouds, and the deep blue of the sea. When I see it, now in my mind, and in a dozens hours past the ice-cold little window, I can imagine why the Portuguese explorers called it Ilha Formosa (Beautiful Island). Because it is.

I'll look out, as the world gets bigger.
I'll be home again.

And it is that strange, yet pleasant feeling that drives me.
I'm leaving home to go home.

To end, a wise quote I found sifting through my files

“He who finds his homeland sweet is still voluptuous; he to whom every soil is as his native one is already strong; but he is perfect to whom the entire world is as a foreign land.” (Hughes de Saint-Victor)

Foreign the world is indeed.