Sayonara

Well, after two years the end finally arrived. Having spent a fortnight saying what felt like an eternal spiral of goodbyes, I didn't actually think the final sayonara would be especially emotional. I was, however, proved sorely wrong on that point. When I boarded the night bus in Hachinohe bound for Tokyo - well let's just say I was more than a little overcome emotionally. Having come to Japan with nothing more than an open mind (and a 35kg bag full of somewhat mangy clothes), I found myself leaving behind, almost in its entirety, the life that I had built for myself in Aomori during my two years on JET. A life that included many people and places that have become very close to my heart.

There can't be many times in a person's life when you have to say goodbye to someone forever, and doing it every day for weeks became a very bizarre and almost farcical ritual. Being great lovers of ceremony, the Japanese like to choose a fixed moment that is designated as the time for your defintive goodbye. As is to be expected, this is usually a very sincere and emotional moment, and can be a very touching way to part. What happens if you just happen to bump into a person that you have already gone through the motions of an 'offical' Sayonara with, however, came as rather a suprise to me. In the event of such an encounter the atmosphere quickly becomes palpably uncomfortable: the Japanese person facing you is cleary unaware of how to deal with such an unstructured situation. Conversation is kept very brief, and the person who might have been all smiles and pats on the back the day before, is now desperately hoping that they can scarper from the scene with little more than a wave and a mumbled "see you!". I count myself lucky that I only had a few such encounters.

I don't feel that it is an exaggeration to say that living in Japan has been the greatest experience of my life. Without any Japanese language abilities, and very little true appreciation of the culture of Japan, life here has at times proved difficult, frequently frustrating, and sometimes just very strange - as was noted by a previous departing JET, there can be few experiences in life more humbling than becoming completely illiterate overnight.

During my final week in Gonohe I found a little piece of folded-up paper, which on inspection turned out to be a questionnaire that newly arrived Aomroi JETs had been asked to fill out during our arrival orientation two years previously. One question asked on the form was, "What are you most worried about concerning your new life in Japan?". I wrote that I was worried that I'd be overcome by homesickness and want to go home. Thankfully, the expected homesickness never surfaced. The strangest thing was that when the end of my life in Gonohe arrived, it actually felt a bit like I was leaving home.