This week, I went out with a friend of mine who used to be a missionary here in Palau. She's been committed and faithful enough to save up money and come back to the island every few years to visit. I couldn't help but be a little distracted during dinner and think I'm going to have to leave one day, and when I come back, I'll just be a visitor.
I never thought the day would come when I could count on one hand how many weekends I had left here. If my emotions were translated to emojis, the app would breakdown because I'm literally all over the place. I'm sad, torn, happy, anxious, all of the above. I've grown in ways this year that maybe I would not have, had I not come to Palau. It's the kids, the view as you are driving (and diving!), the simplicity of life, the love of the people, it's everything. I'm attached to say the least.
However, I know there are family and friends who love me back at home, some who have even been missionaries before, and can help me as I re-enter and adjust back to the "real world."
So now it begins, the first of the lasts, because you never really know if you will get to do that one thing, just one more time.
I studied abroad in Italy for a summer while I was in college and I fell in love with it. I remember the last night so clearly. Me and my friends went to town to enjoy it one last time. We rode the carousel, took the last "touristy" pictures we wanted and soaked it all in. That's the best we could do.
I still dream of Italy and ache to go back someday. I can only imagine how much more I'll miss Palau...
my tanner more Italian days...