A Toast to Endings

When something ends, you can't help but feel nostalgic about certain striking moments that you are sure to remember forever. For instance, getting off that jet for the first time in the Mohammad V International Airport and meeting Abdel Hak for the first time. I remember what he said, which I did not understand at the time, "fait froid" meaning "It's cold" in French. I remember how the jet lag felt like, and how for three whole days, I had no sense of time and had no other sensations than hunger. And then the first ever complete sentence that I was able to memorize "Tu belle comment une poubelle." (You are as beautiful as a trash can). I went through a whole lot of firsts here in Morocco, half of the list will keep me up until late tomorrow afternoon. And it feels so surreal that now I'm leaving, what I'm doing are the lasts. My last dinner at the table, my last night in my bed, my last venture into the cellar, my last hug, my last kiss, my last photo, my last day, my last glance...

It's weird that I'm even toasting to this ending. It's been a part of me for so long that I would feel cripple without it (believe it or not). I would be leaving behind friends and family, and a country that is so much a part of me now. Leaving is hard. Saying goodbye is hard. Toasting to endings is hard.

I guess I should change my title. A Toast to Beginnings. Only, it doesn't feel much like it yet. It feels like an end. Like everything that has been with me for the past two years and six months will all dissolve into a misty dream. Misty, but still there. Still existing. Always remembered.

I fucking hate goodbyes.