All my life, I left. Now I am being left. Goodbyes are hard either way, but the latter cuts differently, singes the edge of my heart in a peculiar way. Perhaps it is just because I’m not used to it. Perhaps it is just because. But, hey, I signed up for this life. It comes with the territory, the transient nature of working at an international school. And who am I to bemoan? So many have come before me, who have lived this life for decades. I am but a child, a wee thing whose experience proves shallow. Yet whose attempt to love has proven deep. And vulnerable, as C. S. Lewis would put it. And so it hurts. But I will not allow my heart to hide, to callous, to darken. I will allow it to grieve, to breathe, to find reprieve in the minty bliss of a summer garden, in the balming laughter of brothers, in the sage company of they who have borne me and brought me up. Then I will return to Singapore, ready for another year. Ready to live alongside both new and those who have remained. Ready to love alongside hearts who have also chosen this sweeter life of vulnerable.