Saying Sayonara
Charles Beers (Huntington High School)
I've never been great with good-byes and I hate the awkward moments leading up to them. The queasy
feeling in my stomach, combined with the golf ball-sized lump in my throat and the inevitable welling of
tears, foreshadows the inescapable words. Yes, I am a mush, and although I’ll never master this skill, I
realized this past summer I’ll need to learn.

A group of friends and I were sitting at our usual table in Kashi, the local Japanese restaurant where
we had forged our friendship. I remember every sight and smell vividly. There was the steam of the grill
that cast a warmth into the air and a sizzle to our hearts. There was the roar of conversation, dancing back
and forth from Japanese to English like a perfectly synchronized couple in the midst of a serenade. Best of
all was the indescribable taste of that first pork gyoza mixed with a steaming bowl of miso soup. It should
have been heaven, but this perfect painting of a Japanese dinner had a dark smear that lingered in the corner
of the canvas: it was a farewell dinner for Ben.

Ben was a senior, and one of my closest friends. We and a few other friends from art class forged a
friendship over Japanese cuisine and movies over the past three years. You could imagine that strange
feeling that crept up on me when he sent me a text saying he was leaving for Chicago in a matter of days
and could we have one last group dinner at Kashi. I was excited that he had gotten into his dream school,
but disappointed that he would be moving so far away in so little time. So while the rest of the group
scarfed down Angry Dragon Bento boxes, I was lost in thought about the future. Would this be the last time
I saw Ben? What about me? What would happen when I had to leave my friends behind for college next
year? After we were stuffed with Japanese delicacies and had bid our waitress sayonara, we drove back to
Ben's. Ben had told us several times that he had seen one of the greatest movies ever made: an old animated
movie titled Spirited Away, by Hayao Miyazaki. When the movie started to play, I tried my hardest to take
my mind off the inevitable of the evening.

In the first five minutes I realized something important: it was WEIRD. While the opening seemed
relatable, a little girl feeling anxious about heading off to a new school, things quickly took a very strange
turn. The parents transformed into pigs, animals and mystical creatures started talking, and the girl,
Chichiro, was forced to work in a bath house while trying to figure out a way to free her parents. I was
awestruck. What was I watching? But the more I watched, the more I became glued to the screen. The
colors were bright and beautiful, and I was eager to explore the fictional, nonsensical world. There were
funny moments, dark moments, weird moments, and even moments where characters questioned their own
identities. But the tone continued to be upbeat, and I became hooked on the spirited fantasy; I didn't want it
to end. Then, as all things must, Chichiro left the magical world, said good-bye to her new friends, and
returned to reality with her parents driving to her new school. It was over.

When Ben drove us home, I was lost in thought at the strange, addictive fantasy I has just seen. I felt
like Chichiro, embracing reality and facing the inevitable change that came with it, which is when I realized
the true message of the movie. I got out of the car, gave Ben a big hug and wished him luck at school, and
watched him drive off into the distance.

As I mentioned, I’m not good at good-byes, and that was one of the hardest. Leaving places and
people I’ve grown so attached to is inevitable as I now prepare to leave for college and discover new roads
to travel. However, I'll always remember the message of Spirited Away: make the most of the time you
have now. There are interesting new faces to see, places to visit, and memories to make. Chichiro and Ben
taught me that. One day I'll return to that fantasy world again, laughing alongside Ben as we devour spring
rolls or revisit Miyasaki’s masterpiece. But for now, “Ima o tanoshime.”
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