Response to Akshay’s Farewell

Dear Akshay,

I’m a bit of an expert in saying goodbyes, so I’ll take the time here to criticize the rules you’ve set yourself.

I’ve said goodbyes many times in many ways. The first time I had to say goodbye I don’t think I was old enough to have developed a consciousness——around a year old? I was born in Pasadena to some hospital and lived in an apartment. The lore was never explained to me. It’s a goodbye that isn’t really a goodbye because it’s like it never happened. The next time I said goodbye was similar. I don’t really know the exact age but I left Korea and my grandmother in a time of my life where I wasn’t able to understand goodbyes. It just happened to me.

Is this the kind of goodbye you want? The kind where it just passes? I mean it's a little different from how you prescribe it: I didn’t know it was a goodbye; you are trying to a last isn’t a last. In a way though, my first two goodbyes may seem to be the ideal experience you’re trying to strive for. In a way I understand why. I don’t feel too sentimental because I’ve accepted this was something that happened: it just didn’t mean that much to a toddler me. And if you’re faced, like I am now, with the weight of everything leaving, wouldn’t it be nice to just let it go?

The next goodbye I ignored. I was in elementary school: 2nd grade. I was walking with my mom and she asked me if I wanted to move schools. I said I didn’t mind. So I moved without saying goodbye to my friends and just left. Like you said, what makes a “last” so painful is it demands presence. To me, I guess I just didn’t care that much.

My next goodbye was sad because I did care. I had to say goodbye to my friend who left in the middle of 5th grade. A 10 year old me wrote a letter and everything. And then I had to say goodbye because we were moving to Hong Kong. In that goodbye I only remember that uncomfortable feeling of overstepping boundaries when your relatives come and try to hug you: maybe I didn’t like them too much. After this I said goodbye two more times. Once again, I left my school and friends unceremoniously, the next time I was the one leaving my best friend, and I was the one who got a letter.

How do I want to say goodbye now?

Not the way I used to. And not quite the way you described either.

You say don’t worry about closure. I don’t buy that. I don’t think you do either. You spent the whole essay trying to make sense of what it means to say goodbye. That’s closure. Or at least the search for it.

I’ve tried not worrying about it. I’ve left schools without saying anything. Left countries without sending texts. I told myself it didn’t matter. That people knew what they meant to me even if I didn’t say it. That we’d cross paths again. But months later I still think about those people. I still wonder if I came off cold, or careless. I think that’s what happens when you don’t mark an ending. You don’t feel like you’ve left anything behind—you just feel like something’s still open.

The goodbyes I do remember—the ones I don’t regret—hurt more in the moment. But they aged better. I think about my best friend in Hong Kong. I told him, face to face, that I’d miss him. That I was grateful. I said it plainly. No big speech. Just said it. We didn’t hug or cry or anything like that. But I said what needed to be said. And now, even years later, I don’t feel like I owe him anything unspoken.

You’re right that endings demand presence. But presence isn't just noticing the moment—it’s standing in it. Feeling it. Naming it. You say you want to memorize how the shuttle hit the floor, or how your friends chased you through the hallway. That’s part of it. But it’s not all of it. The memories stay clearer when you admit they’re ending, and that that takes work. That’s the part we don’t like. And you might have to be the one to say it first. Sometimes you have to risk sounding too sincere. But if you do it right, you walk away lighter. Not because it didn’t matter, but because it did, and you let it. and I’m not saying you need to cry in front of your whole class or write long letters to everyone you’ve ever known. I’m saying: if it mattered, say something. That’s the difference between a memory and a loose end.

The best goodbyes I’ve had left me gutted. But also proud. Because I didn’t run from them. I didn’t push past them just to get to what’s next. I gave the moment what it asked for.

You’re already halfway there. You feel the weight of the “lasts.” You’re trying to make sense of them. Just don’t talk yourself out of it. Don’t protect yourself so much you miss the moment you’re trying to hold on to.