Its not goodbye...

Separation and departure remain as a norm when you live in a highly transient community. Coming to the end of another year (years are from August to May when you work with or are in school), a couple of thoughts resurface almost daily.

Goodbyes, in this community, extend further than they should - in my opinion. As a youth staff, we began thinking about and speaking our parting words over six weeks before our official release date. As one who does not necessarily care for extended farewells, a corrupting frustration drips like acid rain on my concluding month. I much prefer to hug once speak a couple words (if that many) and go our separate ways. This is not to say we wouldn't keep in touch, however I only have a tolerance for so many sentimental moments. Even as I think these things now, it strikes me as youth and ignorance speaking.

"Every moment is precious," said one particular youth. I love this young man with every once of my capable heart, but awkwardness and blurred emotion sway our interaction.

For one who expects this as a norm, you'd think it would be easier. How did it come that I didn't know the wetness of a tear, yet now must tense with all my might to dam these salty emotions. Nostalgia and recollection poison any quiet moments that sneak past the clutter and bustle of Egyptian hours. We had a wise man of age come counsel our staff on some blah blah boring stuff that lowly interns such as myself don't care much for. Despite the assigned content of his seminars, he shared a sliver of life on a more personal basis with a select few. Perhaps the most clever words I recall are those regarding age - "Young men speak more about the future because they have more it than the past; old men speak on the past because they have more of it than they do future."

As a single man, not necessarily "on the prowl," I ponder the importance of companionship. Even as I write this now, the depth of my yearning to share life with another bears its ugly head. Plagued with furious questions speeding in from parents and peers about the ominous "future", nothing is certain. How scary that can be.

Please excuse my incoherence. Haze fogs my writing eyes. There are things I'd like to scribble out but the weight of my heart restrains me from straying too far from these leavings.

Change is rampant, swelling in my stomach. I know the man I entered as, he is but a remnant. But to be a new one, oh the fear. I knew how to manipulate that previous persona. And now discipline, and patience, and sacrifice stickle the conscience. I don't know how to do this.

And to further stone myself from these petty... emotions, I must depart this journal entry to watch a movie. That always helps; enter an alternative reality.