Other people's despedidas

I have watched so many people, some quite good friends, leave and, honestly, each time it gets easier. Though the method of cutting cakes in Mexico will always fascinate me (the center part is cut into a circle, which shall remain untouched until all square shaped extremities are consumed), these cakes all start to taste the same and the speeches overlap in my mind. Sure, the locations change from the labs to offices to once mysterious meeting rooms behind doors usually closed. Those attending the event fluctuate too based on departments and differing friend circles. Tears are rare (at least publicly). Each person, speaking in Spanish or English or both, talks about work and how his or her time has helped foster professional and or personal growth. Bosses are always thanked.



It is not until that last moment, the moment when you realize you will more likely than not never again see this person, whoever he or she may have been to you during a period ranging from weeks to months to years, does the bit of panic set in. Should you give them a hug? A kiss on the cheek? Do you say the obligatory "see you" in denial of geography's injustice to your relationship? I always, always talk about how it is not goodbye. Jokingly, naturally.

Now, I go back to my office. I keep working. Nothing is really different because I am not leaving and my work reality is not so closely intertwined with my life. I have not changed with the other person's departure save one aspect: my realization of time passing. I have been here over two years? Is that really true? Time creeps away faster and faster in Mexico and it is at these despididas that I reflect on my own experiences, be them positive or negative, with a Styrofoam cup in hand and a half-eaten piece of cake dripping milk from its plastic fork puncture wound on my lap.

As I write this from my room, emptied into boxes, and overlook D.F.'s Centro from, what is now, my old flat, I am reminded that each despedida is also a bienvenido.