The Last Time I Saw You

The Last Time I Saw You

“The last time I saw you, you cried when we parted.”

“This time, I won’t,” my little sister declared.

When I said bye to my sister the day I entered the dorm, I saw her misty eyes. I knew that she was gulping down her tears, but I didn't try to comfort her, because I also knew that if I said one more word to her, she would burst into tears. But she did anyway—just before I turned my back for the dorm, she clung to my jacket and began to wail,

 “Eonni, I’m sorry that I’ve vexed you so often. I’ll miss you.”

“Good girl, don’t cry,” I said, wiping my own eyes, “I will miss you too.”

One year later, we met again. My sister and mom flew over the Gulf of Pohai just to come see me. She sat quietly and listened to me pouring out to my mom all the stories of hard moments I had gone through over the last year without my family. She was so quiet that I was a bit surprised: she used to hate the exclusive conversation between my mom and me; she used to constantly interrupt our conversation just to vex me.

Before she left, she gave me a family photo which I forgot to bring when I left home a year ago. When I flipped it over, I noticed a crooked handwriting—“fighting*!”

This time, she didn’t cry. Instead, she cheered to me, “fighting!”

*     *     *

“The last time I saw you, you carried a baby in your arms.”

“Time flies, my dear friend! The baby becomes a lady now!” my mom smiled.

When my mom and her best friend bade farewell to each other at the Tianjin airport, they were young mothers each with a kindergarten child. Six years ago, two lonely souls, away from all the relatives they had to a country which language they didn't speak, began to lean on each other like sisters. But now one of them had to leave for another foreign land.

“Be strong, no matter what difficulties you run into,” auntie, my mom's friend, said.

“Be safe. Costa Rica won’t be an easy place to live in either,” my mom said.

Time flies. Auntie moved from Costa Rica to another country. Our family also moved. My mom and auntie lost each other’s contact number, until this winter when my auntie’s grown-up daughter travelled to Tianjin and searched for my mother. She asked all around knowing nothing but my mom’s name, but she made it in the end.

My mom and auntie made a joyful reunion in a coffee house in Seoul with my company. They talked for hours about how they had raised their children and how their children had grown into ladies who they were so proud of.

This time, when they parted, I didn't see any sorrow of parting in their eyes.

*     *     *

Was it the time that made you stronger, or was it the separation from me that made you more independent? Or, was it simply that you feigned to look stronger and more independent because you didn't want me to worry?

I don’t know. But let me tell you this:

Partings and leavings bring tears and sorrows. But I like them when they force me cherish the memory of the last time I saw you and see the changes in both of us since the last time. Such changes were what made me realize the fact that we were living, growing and maturing.

Now we have to bid farewell again. When this moment becomes a "last time," I wonder, what will we say to each other:
“The last time I saw you …”

* Fighting is a commonly used word of encouragement and cheer in Korea.