After three years of study in Wuhan, sighing, as always, with regret, I discover the time to depart has finally arrived. The people, things, and feelings I experienced – perhaps they must simply be left to the years, to be occasionally flicked through now and again in my memory.
Leaving school is a stage every university student must go through. Perhaps you have already escaped the ivory tower, perhaps you still long for the broad vistas of academia, and hope not to have to leave too soon. But when graduation day arrives, you have no choice but to leave, and, indeed, the school cannot wait to see you go. Since you start work in the middle of July, you have a half-month’s window of time. Also, you just recently returned from your trip after graduating, you don’t have any plans to travel again, and you have a sudden flash of feeling that “the world is so big, there must be a place for me in it.”
Since ancient times, the act of leaving has been attended by much emotion. In my three years in Wuhan, not only did I throw myself completely into the social circles of my friends and teachers, but into the embrace of the local people. I got to know many people, from all walks of life; the old, the young – there’s no knowing what fate will bring. Now that I am leaving, I still have regrets, there are still people that I won’t be able to see again before I go. I very much regret the plans I made that I wasn’t able to see through. There are people that I will most likely never see again for the rest of my life, and it would be better for us to forget about each other.
Leaving is a beginning, a completely new start. On life’s endless path, we come and we go, we go and we come, and leaving is no more than a kind of memory. From dust we come, and to dust we return. What is leaving, if we never really leave?
A completely new life begins with leaving!