This evening, my wife's sister, Liza, together with husband, Philippe, and children, Kim and Greg, got on a flight to Paris, France, their home. They were in the country for their month-long summer holiday. Their last Philippine visit preceding this was four years ago.
My wife has often said that she prefers welcoming people to bidding them goodbye, and I share her sentiments. A welcome is replete with hope and expectation; it has a most genuine smile. It shows a lot of promise and makes a lot of promises. It is spontaneous, it disregards convention, it is gay abandon.
When I bid someone goodbye, I feel a sense of finality. I have dread thoughts. I fear that Fate might wield its hand and forever prevent me from welcoming that someone again. A part of me dies when I bid someone goodbye.
I envy those who can say hello and goodbye rather casually, treating them as mere words or expressions, parts of everyday common speech. They may have no conviction or commitment, but they spare themselves from the self-inflicted agonies of sentimental fools.
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