Olivia

After already having gone through the experience of living in a foreign country for a year and, in the process, meeting many wonderful people who I knew I would have to leave at the end of that year, I am familiar with the bittersweet agony that comes with goodbyes. I have teared up in airports and train stations and I have hugged dear friends as tightly as possible at bus stops, knowing it would be my last chance to do so for awhile. I have murmured the words "it's not a 'goodbye', it's a 'see you later'!" to both myself and to others in multiple languages and I have repeated (and translated) wisdom stolen from Winnie the Pooh - that we are lucky to know people who making saying goodbye so hard. These thoughts certainly help, and in my experience, usually turn the actual moment into one rich with feelings of gratitude and I find myself laughing despite the tears. 

The bummer of saying goodbye finds a way to bother everyone at some point though, it seems. Oftentimes the weird/melancholy goodbye feeling doesn't come just from the knowledge that you won't see someone tomorrow or for a very long time, but from a combination of things, like the uncertainty of the future and/or the sensation that a piece of you will part with them. 

After being an exchange student, I know that the sorrows of goodbyes can feel unbearable at moments, especially when you look at a map and realize that there will be miles and kilometers and entire seas between you and someone you care for deeply, someone who has become a significant part of your year-long life abroad. 

The idea that you will most likely see your dear friends again can be some-what comforting, but it doesn't change the fact that something you love is ending. Your friendship will continue on, maybe even for the rest of your lives, but who you both are in that moment and in that country and what it all means to you makes up a little slice of reality that you will never be able to repeat. It takes some willpower to accept that something you aren't ready let go of -something that doesn't seem finished- is complete, and let it rest in your mind as a beautiful memory. 

 

Before leaving for my three weeks in Sicily, I had to say goodbye to Olivia, one of my closest friends in Paris. If you read my blogposts weekly (or somewhat weekly) you might remember her as the quirky British girl who can make me laugh almost as easily as Molly can. I named this post after Olivia because her decision to go back to the UK early is going to change a lot more things about my life in Paris than she realizes. Actually SAYING goodbye to Olivia wasn't painful; we spent a lovely last day roaming the little streets of Montmartre with Jess and cracking each other up. We found a Mexican restaurant and had some interesting burritos, took silly pictures, and exchanged entertaining stories about the children we all look after. The somber part of our goodbye hit me on the metro ride home, when I started thinking about all the ways that the lack of Olivia's physical presence would alter my remaining months in Paris. The day I had just spent with Olivia and Jess, wandering around Paris and laughing, was the last of its kind, and that didn't feel real. It was already a memory! I knew I would spend other days like that with Jess and Maira, but OLIVIA wouldn't be there. 

Olivia with her accent and silly words, always telling us to stop faffing around. Who could ever replace her? 

Olivia had to leave her job as an au pair in Paris early because of class she must take in London that is starting sooner than expected. She is excited to continue her studies, and Jess and Maira and I are excited for her, too, of course! And I know I will see her again. I could even see her before going back to the States! Even as I write this in Sicily, in the very south of Italy, there isn't even an entire Europe between Olivia and me hahaha. 

 

Olivia, I am glad you are going off to take important steps for your future, but I want you to read this and know how much you mean to me. This year has been tough for me at times, and I don't think you realize how much you have helped me. It makes sense that it wouldn't be obvious for you -- I haven't, like, cried on your shoulder or anything. We aren't close the way childhood friends are. I don't know your favorite ice cream flavor or how you take your coffee and I don't think I know any of your secrets, but I know what you meant to me during the time we spent together in Paris, and how much that will mean to me for the rest of my life. 

 You were a source of happiness that gave me something to look forward to. Our conversations constantly entertained me, and during times when I felt too sad to do the talking, hearing the things you and Jess and Maira would say to each other and your shared laughter was extremely comforting. 

Thank you for being open to our friendship, even after being a bit surprised by my forwardness when one of the first things I actually said to you was "want to be friends?!" Hahaha thank you for getting used to me even though they probably don't make Sallys like me where you come from! 

I won't miss you everyday; not even close.

 But I needed to write this blog post because I know that someday in the future, something is going to remind me of you or Jess or Maira or something any combination of the four of us shared in Paris, and I am going to be filled with a longing to slip back to where and who and what we were as we lived our simple au pair lives in France. And in this post, I am placing the biggest burden of my love on you because you are the first of us to leave! Ha! 

That is all, really. I wish you well, friend. :)