In these final days, I feel a huge hole in my heart forming as Pohnpei slips through my fingers. "So... when are you leaving?" is undoubtedly followed by "So...when will you be back?" I have to say, each time, "I honestly don't know." Part of me wants to say, "at the end of the summer!" "January!" "Next May!" and tell that to enough people that I am forced to make it come true... but to do that would be misleading and unfair.
The truth is that I do not know what lies ahead. I can't even say what I will be doing at this time next month. I have no job, no definitive plans for continued education, and little direction in terms of a career path. Last month at this time, that sounded pretty exciting. Oh, the opportunities that lie ahead! Now, as it seems more and more likely that I will be taking a waitressing job for a few months, it seems silly and reckless. Why am I leaving this place that I love? This place where I have made a life for myself? This place that needs me as much as I need it? These people that I love?
And then I remember. There are people that I love in another place, who have been patiently waiting two years for me to return home. My mom, who has been faithful with a long, loving email and phone call at least once a week, often more (once during the tsunami scare, about 15 in one week). My brother, who traveled 7500 miles and spent thousands of dollars at Christmas, to travel to Pohnpei, just to see me. My aunts and Gram, whose cards and care packages of sweets, body wash, and stuffed animals keep me going on hard days. My cousins, uncles, and my dad, who never say much, but have made a point to say, "We can't wait for you to come home." My roommates from college, who will be my rocks of strength upon my return, who beg for Skype calls, but humbly resign to the fact that they, along with everyone else, come in second to my mom. My friends from John Carroll, my mentors, and the many other friends I have picked up along the way. These are the reasons I am leaving.
I imagine if I could say all of that, everyone would understand. But instead, for the most part, they see the tears well in my eyes, and that's enough for them. I am enveloped in a hug and nothing more needs said.
At the 2011 Commencement Exercise of Our Lady of Mercy Catholic High School, following the awarding of diplomas to our seven graduating seniors (kamwaramwar), I was given a certificate and t-shirt by my co-worker and my principal, which set the tears steadily flowing. I struggled to regain composure, failed, and delivered a short speech with tears running down my cheeks.
Here are my "Final Words"
"Today is one of our last times to be together as a whole school community, and so, to the parents and other guests who have joined us today, I hope you will not mind if I take this opportunity to say a few words to my family.
I often think that people we have loved and who have loved us become part of us – and we carry them around all the time, whether we see them or not. And in some way, we are the sum total of those who have loved us, and those we have given ourselves to.
Today, I need to say thank you to these people who have loved me and who I have loved. In less than two weeks, I will leave Pohnpei, and I cannot say with any certainty if or when I will come back – if or when I will see some of you ever again. It is sad to say, but life works in that way – there are as many closed doors as those opened, as many goodbyes as hellos.
But there is one thing I can say for certain: I am changed forever by knowing you. For the rest of my life, I will carry you with me, in my heart and in my memories.
I will remember every raised hand, every “Good Morning, Ms. Cocco!”, every smile, every “Ohsa!” when I assign homework.
I will remember every after-school conversation in the computer lab or classroom, every hug and “Hi Teacher!”, every time I was sad and you made me feel hopeful.
I will remember my Pohnpeian language lessons, especially your patience with my silly questions.
I will remember every flower behind every ear, every missing pencil, every bird that flew through the classroom during my lesson, every dance and every song. I won’t remember the bad things – only that which makes me smile.
I may have taught you how to multiply polynomials, approximate square roots, and graph parabolic functions, but really, today, I need to say “thank you” for being my teachers. You have taught me so much; more than anything I could have taught to you.
You have taught me to be understanding, forgiving, and patient – with you and also with myself.
You have taught me to slow down – you have said, “Samantha, kommoal!” and “Ke dehr doadoahk laud” and “Ms. Cocco, stop working! Kohdo mwenge!” You have reminded me of what is important.
The mistakes I have made are many. At times, I have expected too much of you. I have scolded you when you did not deserve it. I have been distant or rude when you have tried to show me that you care about me. For these things, I am sorry. I have not been perfect. But you have taught me that this is okay.
Many years from now, I will forget some names and faces. But I will always remember how you made me feel – loved, welcomed, and part of this OLMCHS family. Part of Pohnpei. On June 6, I will leave knowing that I will always have a home in Pohnpei. For this, I say: Gracias [Spanish], Kinisou chapur [Chuukese], Aisha hashikashik [Woleaian spelled very, very wrong!], Salamat po [Tagalog], and Kalahngan ong kupwuromwail [Pohnpeian]. Thank you."
I will remember every raised hand, every “Good Morning, Ms. Cocco!”, every smile, every “Ohsa!” when I assign homework.
I will remember every after-school conversation in the computer lab or classroom, every hug and “Hi Teacher!”, every time I was sad and you made me feel hopeful.
I will remember my Pohnpeian language lessons, especially your patience with my silly questions.
I will remember every flower behind every ear, every missing pencil, every bird that flew through the classroom during my lesson, every dance and every song. I won’t remember the bad things – only that which makes me smile.
I may have taught you how to multiply polynomials, approximate square roots, and graph parabolic functions, but really, today, I need to say “thank you” for being my teachers. You have taught me so much; more than anything I could have taught to you.
You have taught me to be understanding, forgiving, and patient – with you and also with myself.
You have taught me to slow down – you have said, “Samantha, kommoal!” and “Ke dehr doadoahk laud” and “Ms. Cocco, stop working! Kohdo mwenge!” You have reminded me of what is important.
The mistakes I have made are many. At times, I have expected too much of you. I have scolded you when you did not deserve it. I have been distant or rude when you have tried to show me that you care about me. For these things, I am sorry. I have not been perfect. But you have taught me that this is okay.
Many years from now, I will forget some names and faces. But I will always remember how you made me feel – loved, welcomed, and part of this OLMCHS family. Part of Pohnpei. On June 6, I will leave knowing that I will always have a home in Pohnpei. For this, I say: Gracias [Spanish], Kinisou chapur [Chuukese], Aisha hashikashik [Woleaian spelled very, very wrong!], Salamat po [Tagalog], and Kalahngan ong kupwuromwail [Pohnpeian]. Thank you."
