After I have received a speech of every one of them, they slowly line up around my desk in the last days to come say goodbye again. Some more than once. I cannot count them anymore. Neither their words, gift, tears and laughter. All bringing small presents and personally written cards, often using the two Chinese characters I still do not know the reading of, but very well understand; laughing and face. Combining these two needs no explanation about what the word might mean. Now, having cried numerous of times, I guess the whole company has seen that my tears well up as easily as my laughter does. I am happy.
My other personal hero is my manager, who let me write a proposal in the last week by myself, and took me to a sales meeting on the last day, something decided during one of my goodbye parties the night before. This has been amazing! I will definitely miss everybody. I realize I will not soon, if ever get an opportunity like this again. The chance to be REALLY part of the Japanese society, be part of the group, be one of the colleagues, be one of them. This has been a fantastic feeling.
The taxi drives off, while I keep bowing my head with a face full tears at the back seat, leaving behind my nomura family in the midst of neon lit Ginza. When passing Tsukiji and crossing the bridge to Kachidoki, I know this is the lasttime I am returning to my little tatami-covered apartment, my home. Four bags full with presents and stories, waiting to be read, ending up for the next to weeks in a suitcase, to be answered in a mountain less country far away where the people drink milk and eat sandwiches with cheese.
Tomorrow I am off to Shikoku, me, my bike, some food, my havaianas, bikini, Rene and I. While the sun sets, the boat will leave from Odaiba and I will be back home by the time the karaoke bar opens on the night before I arrive back on the other side of this world.
Please give me a soft landing in a country that currently feels completely unfamiliar to me.... meet me the 31st at 17:45....
See you all soon!!
Hugs,
Kirsten