The Last Post

So, how do I end this? We've decided to spend our last weekend in Thailand at our favourite go-to weekend retreat of Hua Hin, this tiny seaside place which has never disappointed us during the past two years when we were looking for a quick escape from the bustle of Bangkok and the everyday frenzy of working at a school. Ahhh... Hua Hin, one last time for old times sake...our usual early bird morning stroll on the beach, our slow climb up Khao Takiab Mountain to bid farewell to those curious arrogant monkeys, and of course our last visit to Cicada Market and it's relaxing and entertaining outdoor stage where many a times we sat and listened to live music until the sleepeez set in. Yup, I'll surely miss you Hua Hin, you and many more people, times, and places permanently stored in every nook and cranny of my personal memory bank.

As I reach the end of the last leg of my career journey, seven years of living and working in 4 different countries, how do I end this? I dislike ends, especially ends of good things. I disliked when the series The West Wing ended. I disliked when I got to the last chapter of a good book. I always disliked the ending of summers. But then, endings are inevitable. You watch the last episode of a series, hoping it doesn't leave you hanging, and then you get tangled into another good series. You read the last chapter of a book, put it down one last time, and then you quickly find another one that will pique your interest. And as far as the end of those lazy days of summer, well, I usually quickly transition into the comfort of those rejuvenating cool and structured days of autumn.

I very recently gave the commencement speech at our school’s graduation ceremony. The class of 2017 Graduation was probably my last as Principal. I reminded the students that their graduation ceremony marked both an ending and a beginning, an ending to their 12 year journey of schooling, but the beginning of their life path towards greatness. Similarly, this is how I see my transition and repatriation to Canada.



Accepting the ending to my global nomadic lifestyle and preparing for the uncovering of new beginnings of this next stage of my life makes rise to a conglomeration of feelings: a bit of sadness and loss, a tinge of occasional bittersweet melancholy, a good dosage of contentment and fulfilment, a comforting undercurrent of relief, and a whole lot of excitement and hopeful anticipation of what lies ahead. It’s all good.

Seven years ago, as I embarked on what was suppose to be a 2 year working junket turned into a 7 year working journey, I decided to keep a record and chronicle some of the sightings and discoveries along my path. I joined the blogosphere and became a blogger. Except for that time when I was subtly told by my superiors to refrain from blogging so as not to jeopardize my re-entry visa, wherefore the 18 month interruption, I faithfully journaled my thoughts and perspectives of what was happening to me and around me in the always fascinating world I found myself in. I still regret not blogging during that unfortunate hiatus and consequently, quite a few interesting segments have been left out of the storyline of our 7 year odyssey. Summer of 2013 comes to mind... 

That summer will forever remain memorable to us. As a summer project, we took it upon ourselves to collect donated school books and a few resources and ship the lot to Africa. What started as a small hey-let's-see-if-we-can-get-a-few-boxes-of-free-school-stuff-and-send-it-to-Africa idea quickly took on a life of its own. We were pleasantly surprised and even flabbergasted by the enthusiastic response we got from people wanting to donate stuff, from school staffs, teacher colleagues, friends, friends of friends, even from the shipping company where we inquired about the cost of a shipping container.

OK, close her up...that's all we can take...

Within a few weeks, we went from a few boxes, to a 20ft container, and then to a 40ft container. It was quite overwhelming, but in an amazing kind of way. Needless to say, our busy summer collecting school stuff gave a tremendous boost to our belief in the innate goodness of mankind and furthermore, we were equally recompensed with the over the top gratefulness of the people on the receiving line.

...and off the truck in Africa.

At the end, when the generosity and gratefulness dust had settled, we were both surprised to realize how what appeared to be a complex undertaking like this turned out to be so easy to do, especially when it is fuelled by the generosity and benevolence of people. It had also been brought home to us that it takes so little from we ordinary folks who just happened to be born on the right side of the world tracks to make such a positive impact in the lives of people who may not be as privileged as we are. Yes, those few weeks in the summer of 2013 were indeed one of the most fulfilling episodes of our lives! It would have made a great blog entry.

I enjoyed my blog writing. It had almost become therapeutic to me. It permitted me to unload, to get things off my chest, emotions, impressions, opinions. It also got me curious about things. I’d often go out looking for ‘blog material’, and my travel and global world was always rife with rich blog fodder. When people or events tugged on my emotional cords, I’d store and let ripen the incident in the back of my mind long enough for it to eventually be metamorphosed into a blog post.

Holding bébé Raymond in my arms at the Espoir de Vie Rescue Children's Centre
in Conakry. The Centre names the abandoned children that come to them after whomever
happens to be at the Centre when the child arrives. I was the first man to hold Raymond.
Blog past September 29, 2010

Sometimes, I would be in a situation where things that were happening around me did not seem quite real to me at the moment it happened, like the time I held that baby in my arms at the Rescue Centre in Conakry, and I listened to the horrendous story of how, the night before, he had been left in a garbage bag under a bridge just outside of the city. Or the time the First Lady of the banana-republic country where I was Head of School visited my office and her eyes welled up as I told her how impressed I was with her daughter for being so well grounded for a child growing up as the First Child.

These and many more of real life episodes never seemed quite real until I evoked and replayed them in my blog. Until they made their way to an entry, I held on to them and let them simmer until I was ready to share and tell the story. And then, as I pressed the publish button, I always sensed a bit of relief, relief that I had gotten the story out there and it had been archived in cyberspace. I could now delete it from that data base in my brain and make more room for new blog-worthy material.

Sometimes I’d write to honour beauty; I’d write to share feelings. Occasionally I would pepper my storytelling with a bit of humour, but often times I would hold back on my cynicism, even though the injustices, the dysfuntionality and the desperation that surrounded me warranted it. I often wrote for selfish reasons, so that I could record my life and later on, when nostalgia seized me, my blog would always be there in cyberspace, waiting for me.  I have one life, and a good one at that. I hate letting it get by me so quickly. In some way by blogging these past 7 years, I can relive particular episodes of my life, a rerun of sorts.  

Now, 7 years later, we are going home, both of us a little older, a little wiser, and a whole lot more tired. Now, again, how do I end this?

Now where...or rather what?