Saying Goodbye to Traveling Friends

During the month I spent in the Philippines, I’ve caught a glimpse of one of the most common hardships for travelers: having to say constant goodbyes to friends as they continued their journeys elsewhere. I’ve talked to some of the habitual travelers on base, and they said they’ve gotten used to saying goodbye, that they’ve gotten numb to the pains of fleeting friends and broken promises of keeping in touch. But I’m still so new at this travel thing that it’s a very strange sensation for me.

The first week I was in the Philippines, I was nervous and anxious about making friends. I met over 50 people in a day and I was mostly worried about trying to remember everyone’s names. By my second week, I had met a few people and came out of my shell a little. I remembered names and I was talkative and I met a lot of people from all over the world that I considered friends and inspirations. The third week I was here, a lot of people left and I started spending a lot of time alone. It was a pretty reflective week and when I decided to write up a lot of this post. The last week I was here I finally had met a group of people I could call friends, but only had a few days left to spend with them.

I’ve been told that I may never see these people again, and that this is the natural way that things work out for a traveler. I’m a fairly quiet person who doesn’t normally make friends very easily, so the ones that do stick matter a lot, but it sounds like a nomadic life ends up being a lonely one. Though I’ve since come to terms with this, it doesn’t mean I won’t still try to keep the ones that matter close.

The cost of seeing the world and learning new perspectives is perhaps becoming a loner in the process.

So here’s to the ones we may never see again, but also the ones we still hope to reunite with some day. Here’s to the woman who saved me from diarrhea-induced dehydration and the first person I felt comfortable with on base. Here’s to the guy who was only on project for a few days and had to leave because of a back injury, but headed straight to Manila to volunteer with another organization helping children. Here’s to the team lead who made me fall in love with Streetlight, and then to the lead who converted me back to a Camansihay loyal right afterwards.

Here’s to the guy who was a Malaysian theater celebrity as a child, and here’s to his wife who smiled through injury and infection, both of whom extended their stay until the school is finished.  Here’s to the girl teaching in Thailand who took her week-long break to volunteer with us. Here’s to the guy with the amazing singing voice who raised over $900 in a day for the cause, and here’s to the two women who dug a septic tank hole deeper than themselves.

Here’s to the guy who peed in my room at 3am.

Here’s to the staff member who resigned to be back in the field, and here’s to the couple who left to go see Star Wars in Manila. Here’s to the girl behind the camera who doesn’t like to sing or dance and the guy behind the camera who led up the charge to cook Christmas dinner. Here’s to the guy who never knows if he’s leaving or staying, and here’s to the local university professor who volunteers on his days off. Here’s to the French woman I can’t find on Facebook – if any of you find her, let me know will ya? Here’s to the woman who came to the Philippines to find lost family members, learn the language, give back, and ended up doing all three.

Here’s to the swimmer who has lived in countless countries and wants to work in disaster relief after university. Here’s to the four inseparable local volunteers who show up twice a week despite being actively engaged in their university studies, and here’s to black kangaroos. Here’s to the guy who goes to sleep after work and then wakes up later to study when base is a little bit more quiet. Here’s to the guy who talked to me for forty-five minutes about a septic tank. Twice.

Here’s to the one guy who drank during the game of never-have-I-ever when the topic of threesomes came up, and here’s to the guy who now has a lighter burn he can brag about. Here’s to the girl who gave me the courage to join in when she started singing in the shower stall next to me. Here’s to the guy who dances every time Justin Bieber’s “Sorry” comes on, and here’s to the writer who has been traveling for seven years and journaling for eleven. Here’s to the girl who got bed bugs, cement burns, and flesh eating bacteria during her first three days on site, but still extended her stay to volunteer longer anyway.

And here’s to the rest of you crazy wonderful lot, waking up early to carry bags of cement and gravel through the scorching sun and the pouring rain. It’s amazing to know that there are so many people like you who continue to give your time and energy to helping others. I know we might not all end up staying in touch, but thank you for being part of such an incredibly memory.

I still hope we cross paths again one day.