Sunglasses Always Fit

There’s a long list of things that can be painful or annoying about being single; getting a zipper up on the back of your dress, applying sunscreen in the right spots, opening a stubborn jar of pickles, a scout to keep eyes on the cockroach while you hunt for the spray. Also on this list – not having anyone to plan your birthday for you. 

For some reason, it feels a bit selfish to plan your own party, but there’s this tug because you want to do something, and yet, don’t want to ask too much of people, multiplied by “well, I’ve been to all of their birthdays,” subtracting each time you flaked on hanging out with them . . . and then all the etc and etc to that. Social math is hard. Covid made it harder, too. We all got very comfortable staying inside, keeping our circles small, having excuses. 

If I wasn’t leaving Hong Kong this year, I’m not sure I would have done much about it all, because my birthdays tend to make me all melancholy. I probably would have taken myself to a foreign country to Turn 40 in the Foreign, because we’re always looking for the pun. But knowing I was on a timeline of being able to force all those I love to be in the same place, at the same time, and pay attention to me . . . well, I had to have a hook. So, obviously I chose a party venue that mostly caters to children. 

I rented out a black light space where you paint each other and blast pop songs. I provided pizza and snacks from the black market American store and it was BYOB and boy, my friends, b’ed so hard I had leftovers to pick up the next day. We danced, smoked shisha, ate Cheezits and BlowPops, I gave a teary speech, we painted each other and the walls and danced some more. 

I hadn’t made the invite list public on purpose, because I was inviting random people from all across my seven years here, so it was so cool when someone new would show up, to hear the cries of “YOU!!! AHHHH!!!!” and see the hugs and witness the laughing reunions of people who hadn’t seen each other in a while. 

It was silly and sad and special. My friends were generous and sweet and indulgent, and I am so thankful for each and every one of them. No matter what Hong Kong and my work and the world has put us through, we’ve taken trauma bonding to new heights, and I know I have people I can count on forever. 

To prolong the good times, and to collaborate with a dear friend who was also having a circle birthday, our resident Ambassador of Organized Fun, Nick Jones, coordinated a junk. This is a popular thing to do in HK, renting a big boat with catering and drinks and blast your fav tunes to sail around to the beautiful islands and beaches we have here, jump from the top deck into the water, rate each other’s cannonballs like we’re ten again, get sunburned while lounging on a unicorn floatie, demanding anyone still on the deck to throw us another Tsing Tao. 

In the midst of several rainy weeks, we had a Wednesday public holiday, and booked the junk, and it was one of the most perfect days of my life. Being trapped with people on a boat for eight hours is a nightmare for many, for me it is a DREAM.

Some of the people there I had known since my very first day of work in Hong Kong, and the stories we can tell on each other, the memories we’ve made, the deep deep love that grows between people far from family and home who choose to call each other friends. Priceless.

And now we get to the goodbyes. And I don’t know how to write this. I don’t know how to understand or believe that I really won’t be coming back in August, a craft California beer belly to work off in the Hong Kong humidity, a summer’s worth of stories to catch up on with everyone, a classroom to sort with a Target and Dollar Tree haul, sunsets to chase on my nightly promenade walks, drinks to down on Peel Street, running into everyone you’ve ever known through six degrees of separation that is teaching in HK. 

I have thirteen more sleeps in my beloved studio sanctuary. I’ve sold, donated, tossed things for the last five months since my heart first started breaking about leaving, and yet every time I look around, there’s another drawer I haven’t really opened and acknowledged the contents of. 

And there’s a long list of logistics of things like taxes, social security, closing bank accounts, security deposits, getting out of the iron clad contracts that are gym memberships and cell phone service. It’s enough to make me turn on Tinder and Bumble again and search exclusively for accountants and lawyers to help me navigate it all, while trying to book dinners and happy hours and long walks with those I love, while booking a few last minute weekend trips to places I never went to, because I thought I’d have more time, while trying to make the end of Year 5 meaningful for students, while trying to make my heart understand what’s happening here. 

Part of me wants to light a match and burn down my flat just so I won’t have to pack. Part of me wants to stay deep in the pretend of “this isn’t happening” and not say any goodbyes at all, close nothing at all, hug no one even a tiny bit longer or harder. 

Oh, and it’s hard. But that helps me remember to be grateful. I’m lucky – because how lovely is it to have something so hard to say goodbye to? 

So, for the rest of these sleeps, sweet dreams, supernatural energy to do it all, amazing health, extra hours in my day, a drop in humidity, and understanding and grace from everyone to me, please. Because I’m (not so quietly) falling apart with the birthday, the boat, the goodbyes.