Blink

Editor's note: I wrote this blog on 22 August.

Nearing the end of PST feels like I’m reliving the last month of college. Everyone is coming to the realisation that these times we cherish will not last forever. PST is only the beginning of our Peace Corps journey, and like the colon blinking on my alarm clock, every moment is gone in an instant, another taking its place. Every laugh, joke, memory: blinked away—the blinking of my clock no different than the blinking of my eyes...

Watching our language teachers blink away tears after laughing at my inspiring interpretive dance... My laughter later joining theirs when they ask me if I’ve ever had dance training—they noticed I pointed my toe really well...

Amidst various levels of singing, we blink through squints, trying to read the words on the KTV screen while belting like a karaoke champion...

Blinking astonishment from friends as I rap the entirety of Eminem’s “Without Me”, only looking back at the words once...

Cutting a moment’s blink in half, I flash a wink at a friend staring at me...

My computer is on the blink every time I attempt to send an email...

Blink.

Our group hangs on every second. I lose myself in thought, watching the blinking of my friend’s digital-faced watch. He never wears it in class—only leaves it sit on the table if he’s not spinning it around his pen.

With each blink, we get closer to saying goodbye to the friends we’ve made. Friends forged through like-minded aspirations, lengthy safety sessions and waiting... lots and lots of waiting...

Can you count how many blinks exist in a single day? Can one count the number of cultural interactions—somewhere on the spectrum of failure to success—we have faced? Each one helped us grow as individuals, but more so as friends.

Like eyelids, we were brought together. We have connected and bonded, but like each blink, we will now be separated. One cannot see with their eyes closed.