How to “Not” Say Goodbye

I’ve recently been confronted with a lot of “lasts.” A month ago, I had my last Interim adventure trip—the last time I could be with all my friends together. A week after was my last IASAS Badminton championship—ending twelve years of representing my school in badminton. A few days later, I had my last Chinese summative assessment—probably the last time I would learn or use a foreign language. 

As a senior about to graduate high school, I’ve recently been confronted with a lot of goodbyes. Rationalizing that something is, indeed, my last. The last time I saw my best friend chasing me down the hallway. The last A4 free period in Meeting Room 5. The last time the entire senior class gets together. 

But honestly, when I say goodbye, I’m doing the opposite. I’m holding on—because when it’s the last time, I don’t want to let it slip by. I want to memorize the way the shuttle hit the floor for the last time, the way I escaped the hallway chase, the way we played our last hand of poker in our free period. Instead of making myself ready to let it go, I try to absorb the experience back in again. Maybe that’s what makes a “last” so painful: it demands presence. It asks you to see everything, to feel deeply, to take nothing for granted. Facing a last makes you wish that it really, really isn’t the last. 

I don’t think I’ve quite figured out how to properly let go—to properly say goodbye. But I’ve definitely learned what not to do, or, in other words, what to do if you never want to feel closure. I’ve compiled my failures at saying goodbye into a rulebook for you. I’m not quite sure how it will help you, but hopefully, the guide will help you avoid some common mistakes when saying goodbye.

First, you have to pretend the last time isn’t the last. 

You have hope that the so-called “last time” isn’t actually the last. It doesn’t matter that your best friend is moving to the other side of the world or that your favorite teacher is retiring forever. You have to believe that at a grocery store some day in the future, you’ll see that person again. So don’t worry about saying your goodbyes now—trust that you will be reunited and never have to say goodbye ever. 

And second, don’t worry about closure. 

Treat your “last” just like any other time. Have fun, make memories, but don’t dramatize that you’re saying goodbye. You don’t need to hug your friend and say “goodbye, I’ll miss you”—after all, it’s implicitly understood. 

As you can tell, I never believed that a goodbye was actually a goodbye. I couldn’t get myself to believe that a moment was, truly, the last. But it is. A goodbye is a goodbye—a goodbye not to the person, but to that version of a person. At the end of this year, I’m not saying goodbye to Mr. Glenz; I’m saying goodbye to the advisor Mr. Glenz. The person who cared for me, supported me, and listened to me over the last four years. I do hope to see him again in the future—perhaps for a meal—but it won’t be the same. He would not be the same person, I would not be the same person, and he would, definitely, not be the same person to me. We would be peers—not a teacher and a student. 

So my one piece of advice is to just say goodbye. Don’t hold on to the “lasts”, let them go. Letting go doesn’t mean that you don’t care about your best friend or Chinese teacher—your memories stay. But, at least for me, holding onto the “last” makes you believe that it isn’t the last. And not letting yourself say goodbye is the worst way to do it.