Growing Up #9: ‘Tis The Season of Goodbyes

August – the eighth month of the calendar, the month when Summer isn’t gone yet, but the winds begin to feel chilly, a telling sign of how we have lived past over half of the year; a sign of the coming cold in the horizons.

August – a month of goodbyes when the suitcases are neatly packed, weighed, and wrapped. They hold not just belongings but memories and scents of yesterday, and now have pasted tags over their bodies keeping them from getting lost. It is how much can fit inside the weighing limit that one can carry of ones past – crunched, crumbled, convoluted.

I bid goodbye to friends, their eyes yearning for a better tomorrow and their hearts swelling with hope. I wish them the best that there can be. Together we’ve bid our goodbyes to many it seems. Maybe we have lost count now. Some goodbyes are left for electronic wires to convey, some other even unsaid.

There’s something strange about this season, a signal of transition. A fleeting season that could define many tomorrows, or may be it could just be a passing season. An ephemeral season that holds a memory or two for most, of when they left, and when they let go.

August – when the leaves turn yellow in some places, it’s still green here.


Growing Up, a series on Growing Up, every Saturday – because Saturdays are perfect for overthinking. 

I Think of Summer

I think of summer
as autumn moves away
opening the doors to winter.

Strong gust of November winds
blow past my shell
ripping apart my safe house
just at the start of the cold.

Summer has ended,
a season gone
but work still remains to be done.

I’ve been lazy
dancing under the sun,
now I’ll shiver and run
at the sight of the beacon,
nature’s sign of change.

I think of summer,
but summer’s gone.
I think of the next summer.

I will always think of summer.