A Farewell Beyond Words I’ve thought about a lot of ways to take what happened yesterday, throw it in a blender for a few minutes, and then pour it out and shape it in such a way that the events and feelings might come off as humorous, to make it seem that I was/am detached from them. But I decided not to. Because truth is, I am feeling pretty melancholy over it all. As irrational as it may seem, and as much as I can’t really understand it, I am really pretty sad that Segawa’s 3 nen sei class, as of 1:00 yesterday afternoon, is now gone. The frustrating part is, it’s so hard to explain why. I feel like somehow they were my spirit’s most poignant link to this place. Less academic than most classes, many of them wore their hearts on their sleeves—whether consciously or unconsciously—which allowed me to know them on a level that I don’t think anyone probably realized I did. I think that’s why it’s so hard to explain why I am sad. Did I ever have a truly deep conversation with many of these kids? No. Did I ever help them out with any emotional struggles they were going through? No. Did I ever tell them the secrets of my heart? No. Not really. But in a sense, I could probably answer “yes” to all of those questions. Though I never had a deep conversation with many of them, I could hear some of their hearts—like Ryo’s—when they refused to participate in class. When their eyes lit up when I told them they did something well. When I observed the wonder on their faces while they watched “E.T.” or listened to “Green Eggs and Ham.” I never helped them through any emotional struggles in person, but as I’ve seen their needs, like Kazuma’s directionless, empty gaze when his mother left, I’ve asked God to be there. I haven’t known much of what they’ve gone through, but where I’ve seen pain and joy, I’ve tried to do my best to enter in and implore the one who understands better than anyone to be near and somehow speak to them. I’ve never told them the secrets of my heart, but, really, in order to know, all they had to do was look at me. Just being here is one of the biggest dreams I’ve ever had. They’ve lived the secret with me. But will any of them understand this? Did anyone feel as impacted as I did? I doubt it. In fact, I don’t think any of the other teachers, and probably not really the students, understood why I was emotional yesterday. Why I teared up when Hiroaki assured the teachers “We won’t forget you,” knowing how much I will treasure the unique memory of him. Why I was so touched that Kazuma wept during the parting song, realizing that at times, the school was probably his family. Why, when Aoi, the last in the goodbye line-up, didn’t let go of my hand, I shed new tears, remembering her bold self-introduction a year and half ago, long before most of the students would even look at me. And so, at some level, if not as deeply as other teachers, I grieve. I don’t claim to have the same profound ache that others may experience, but I testify that this spirit of melancholy, too, is real. San nen sei, sayonara. Honto ni wasuremasen. Deai wa takara deshita. (9th grade class, farewell. Sincerely, I will not forget. Our encounter was a treasure.)