A Very Fond Farewell

My shelves are bare, and my suitcase, once again, lies packed in the corner. All errands have been taken care of, and I now look at the Pazardzhik-Sofia train schedule for the final time. My sheets drying on the line, I gaze at the rolling hills and Rhodopi Mountains to the South, over the whole town, from my apartment window. Now all that remains is tomorrow, my last day of class, and with it, the last round of goodbyes.

The goodbye process has been going on since last Thursday; I then took the opportunity to do so with my classes that day, knowing that I will have departed Bulgaria come the following Thursday. With the passing of every class, with the final smiling faces, hugs, and waving hands, the more I feel that my departure finally “sinks in” to my psyche.

And now, experiencing fully the emotions that arise from my imminent return back home, I cannot help but look back at those whom I am leaving.

Much to my mental ease, my classes, in the end, almost universally liked me. Some, it might be said, even loved me. All of this might well have been caused by my relaxed, non-confrontational nature, a far cry from their other classes, as is my understanding. This was perhaps one of my greatest weaknesses as a teacher, of which I very admittedly have many; there is always more for me to learn and there are always better habits for me to develop. On the other hand, this apparent weakness of mine contributed to one of my greatest successes: students being open and unafraid to voice their opinions, concerns, and curiosities in class. It is impossible for me to experience the actual thought processes and feelings of my students, but, from what many of them have told me, it is this environment that I helped to foster in the classroom that made it not only enjoyable, but interesting and educational, something different from the norm which many of them detest. It is partially this that caused many of them to beg and plead with me to stay for a second year; upon my announcement that I would not be returning next year, without fail, someone in every class immediately launched a sharp yet disappointed “Why?” at me.

Interesting classes and some cultural exchange, however, are by no means the factors behind the entirety of my current sadness and unshakable feeling that, somehow, I’m not just leaving; I’m leaving people behind.

Some students were less emotional. “You’re cool. We like you” was a common theme. Others, however, forced me to hold myself back from breaking down in front of them.

Today, as my 9д class was leaving my classroom for the last time, one girl, Eliya, gripped me in a hug. “I want to thank you so much. You and BEST (the speech and debate competitions I took them to) changed my life.”

Last Thursday, another girl, Tsveti, hugged me similarly. “I’m going to message you when I finally get a medal in the competitions next year! We’re all going to miss you!”

Most striking was several weeks ago when I instructed everyone to write down some sentences about themselves for a psychology experiment. One young man, who takes part in my modest philosophy club, wrote as his final sentence, “…and my role model is Colby Fleming.”

All I could do was lie the paper on the table in front of me and stare blankly ahead. I have been here merely a year, and have zero teaching experience. How is this even possible? I was completely baffled. I still am. And yet here I stand, unwittingly having so many young minds turning towards me for guidance, for an example of some sort of standard of behavior, God knows what that might be. Intellectually, I realized even before the start of the year that something like this might happen, that students might grow attached to me. But, like so many other things, despite all foreknowledge and intellectual realization, nothing can really prepare oneself for an experience like the experience itself. I have never been a teacher and, to my knowledge, have never been a role model or a mentor, and so nothing could have prepared me for this feeling of immense influence, immense responsibility.

And now, despite this responsibility, I am now leaving these students with whom I have so strongly bonded. Is this equivalent to shirking the responsibility entirely?

In many ways, my departure from Bulgaria is very similar to my arrival here; there is much hasty packing and sorting things out, and the bulging suitcase in the corner; there is anxiety about the future; and, of course, there are the goodbyes and farewells. Coming here, I left friends and family. Leaving here, I am leaving practically the same sorts of people, be they my dear Fulbright comrades and managers, my most helpful Bulgarian friends, or my beloved students. The sad difference is that, upon coming here, there was the light of return home at the end of the tunnel, a reunion with those I left behind. But with those from whom I depart now, there is no such guarantee; it only exists in the faint hope that my life’s path one day takes me through Bulgaria once more. This remains to be seen. But, in any case, many of these people exchange with me our final goodbyes.

And this is what makes my return from this adventure, in many ways, much more painful and melancholy than my setting off on it.

Yet, despite the discomfort and sadness it may cause, I cannot shirk duty. Thus, to all of the aforementioned people, who made my year incredible, I bid you a very, very fond and heartfelt farewell.

And Tsveti, I hope you do win those medals. I think you will. But in the end, it doesn’t matter to me; I’m already proud of you, and I will miss you too. All of you.

Don’t stop being awesome.