I have been habituated to goodbyes since a tender age but
never got accustomed to it. It started from Kathmandu Domestic Airport at the
Departure section. Uncontrolled tears would roll down when I said goodbye to my
parents and made my way through security in my crisp white shirt, pressed pleated blue skirt and black buckle shoes. By the time I was cleared from
security, my shirt would be damped with tears and my pressed skirt would be
wrinkled on the sides in a desperate attempt to hold back tears. I would look
from the airplane window at my parents till they were the same size as my
little dolls. I would cry until my eyes were swollen and would only stop after
the airplane taxied on Biratnagar soil. This ritual happened thrice a year and
continued for 10 years when I went to school.
Once a passenger who was a painter felt sorry for me. He
tried to distract me and showed his recent work themed Himalayas. I cried right
into his paintings and his Himalayas were randomly blotted with tears. One
would think that I would overcome tearful goodbyes as I mature, that never
happened. No matter what the destination- vacation, college or business; tears
would be on the alert to do their drill once I entered the airport premises.
Yes, final goodbyes are the truth of life. It is only but
realistic. I have said my final goodbyes many times. I have said it to the man
who raised me as his body flamed and turned to ashes, and only hoping to see
that kind face one more time. I have said it to the man I love as his maroon
car disappeared and I stared at the tail light, and only hoping to hold him one
more time.
At every final goodbye, I am transformed to that little girl
in the crisp white shirt, pressed blue skirt and black buckle shoes who
has damped her shirt and desperately clutches her skirt in an attempt to
hold back tears whilst she gazes for one last look of her loved one.
She never got accustomed to final goodbyes. She never will.
…
EC
