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As many of you know, in one month I will say goodbye to Indonesia.

This goodbye, though, is different.

I practice Linguistic Empathy and I expect you to do the same. Please bear with me if my English is not perfect.

Every expat knows perfectly well that saying goodbye to a country where one has lived a significant period of time is always traumatic. No matter how deeply one has loved the country, there will always be a painful tear when the moment of the goodbye arrives.

Saying goodbye to a country where one has lived, loved, rejoiced, suffered and grown means to close the door on a specific phase of life. For expats, it is like that: every country corresponds to a phase, and closing the door of a house means to close that phase, too.

This goodbye I am about to say to Jakarta, however, is different from what I went through in the past. I am curious to reflect on the reasons why.

First of all, I only have to take care of my mourning. I will be able to concentrate on my sadness, on my sense of estrangement when I realize I will never go back to Indonesia; on my saudade, when I think of my Ani, my home, or the little things I have come to appreciate in Jakarta.

I won’t have to put my mourning aside to take care of my sons, whom especially at a very young age needed me to help them elaborate it.

Secondly, I don’t empty my home. What an incredible feeling of lightness… Sure, I still have to go through all I have accumulated in almost four years here (I let you imagine how many medical tests I take away with me 🙂 ), but when I go to the airport, I’ll close the door on a house that continues to live, because my husband and cat will remain here a while more.

I won’t leave with the sad image of an empty house, devoid of our voices, laughter, tears and talks that have filled it for long. This is one thing that has always shattered me.

 

 

Moreover, this time I have been the one to put the word end to my life here. My husband could have stayed longer, and me with him.

Deciding to leave Indonesia has been difficult, but now that I have, it makes a lot of difference in leaving the country. I go because it is my decision to no longer stay here, not because a working contract has come to an end. This is another amazing feeling of freedom and control.

The thing that mostly distinguishes this goodbye, though, is that I will not leave a peace of my heart here.

Leaving behind the African countries, Honduras, Peru, not to mention Jerusalem, I was always deeply upset at the idea that some of the people I deeply loved would no longer be part of my life. In some cases I knew for certain I would never see these people again.

Here I really leave only two of this kind of people. And one, I am sure I’ll see again, albeit for short moments, in Italy.

My heart has not beaten the way it has in other countries. What I am sorry to leave behind is my wonderful routine, which I am sure will never be the same elsewhere, and this wonderful home that has seen me growing, working, studying, and that with its elegance and discretion has provided an ideal frame and a constant refuge.

 

 

I always said it, and now I stress it once more: the real goodbye is not to material things but to human relationships and the people you leave behind. Some of them I carry within me and even though I never see them again in my whole life, they will always have a special place in my heart. It is also thanks to them that my goodbyes before this one have certainly been very painful but also deep and filled with love.