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Three friends are leaving this month, but I just became familiar with two of them a couple of weeks ago.
One is from Senegal, a country lying on similar latitude to Taiwan and sharing the same patch of sunlight. I still don't know much about this friend, but I am sure he is reliable and supportive.
The other one is from China, a strait away from Taiwan. We speak the same language, laugh at the same jokes but differ in ideology. Yet does that matter? I don't think so now.
I don't like the sentiment of saying goodbye, which is heavy and unavoidabe. Somehow the coward side in my heart urges me to "detach from the reality" -- to hide, to forget, and maybe one day the sadness will fall into oblivion without a trace.
Parting sorrows are just like kiss of the rain, intangible, cold but real.
91 days more and I will return to Taiwan. Some friends are waving farewell to me before I am ready to say goodbye to them and Leeds. In terms of music, rest is a note which stands for stop, wait and then restart; bygones will be bygones, and a bright future is lying ahead. This time, I am going to draw another rest in my life. I have played romantic serenade, dreamy nocturne and also melancholy elegy. Now, with a new rest, I am going to play a brand-new movement though I still have no idea about its genre. Hope this one will be a upbeat march, leading me toward a sunny tomorrow.
I am afraid of saying goodbye to these friends becasue sooner or later, I will have to say goodbye to you too, though I already said that in January. Life in the UK can be dull, but talking and writing to you always give me a taste of hope and a touch of happiness. You are there for me through thick and thin, from darkness to morning. You have been the one I turn to when I am in need.
Please allow me to mark the glorious days in my own way, before saying goodbye...
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