let lemons be angry

On the very last day of primary school, I stood outside the classroom watching the boys take a group photo with a trophy on one of their heads. There were proper goodbyes I wanted to say to people, but I didn't, and it didn't matter.Girls were crying because it was the last day of school ever; I hadn't learnt the emotion of separation yet.

I felt it on the last day I stayed at the Kawata's. I was in a departmental store, but I wanted to be back at the house and hear the dragonfly song for the last time. I thought of all the faces I would never see again, and one of them made me feel unbearably sad. I have never seen that face since, and I don't think I will. The sadness I felt that afternoon was due to the knowledge that this was a real goodbye. Not a see you later, not the goodbyes we throw behind our shoulders as we part daily.

I felt it on the day we blessed the sec 4s. The choir sang "The Lord bless you and keep you." I played handbells with my seniors for the last time. After that I moped around the hall as we carried the handbell cases out. And on the day the j2s graduated, I moped around the lockers watching them take photos with one another, feeling like the only j1 in the world.

I felt it on the last day of turt. No matter how close we had gotten as a team, there would be no more concerts or team meetings to throw us together again. Without such fixtures, people rarely find the instinct to gather. I was right about that.

And I feel it now. Or at least, I feel it coming. I didn't have to feel sad when my batch graduated and dispersed, because we knew that we'd always meet up. But the rare occasion comes about when there's no promise of that. And so every day feels slower than the previous day, a kick of departmental store sadness all over again.