Ghost Month

One of the ruder Mandarin terms for a Caucasian foreigner is bai gui (white ghost). Today, I actually felt like one. As I sat at my desk, reorganizing it after the move to the new office, it occurred to me that soon I would be packing it all up again, for good. The imminence of my departure from Taiwan settled on me, and for the first time I really considered how far away I would be from my students and new friends, and how hard it would be (I confess—unlikely) to sustain meaningful communication across the ocean. I put most of the things away, leaving a stack of papers for filing—tomorrow, I promised myself. Then I picked up my bag and walked out of the office and down the hall, leaving for the day. Classes had just ended, and on the way I passed a bunch of ninth graders who called and waved cheerily to me as I passed. I felt like I was floating past them, dreamlike, as if I was already half gone. “Goodbye, Alana!” they cried. I knew they meant it the same way they had all year: goodbye, see you tomorrow. But it tolled and shuddered deep in me as though they were saying goodbye for the last time. “Goodbye,” I weakly answered, smiling so sadly. Could they tell? I brooded over this as I scootered home, thinking sad and sweet thoughts, occasionally laconically reminding myself where self-indulgent romanticism has gotten me. By the time I pulled into the garage, I felt human again, though rather achy in the teeth and throat. I came to Taiwan during Ghost Month and it seems that I will leave during one, as well.