How to Say Goodbye

I have known for three months now that September 30th would be a difficult day. Today marks my transition to the second half of my co-op. This occupational and institutional transition also comes with a geographical transition: this Monday I will begin my position in the project management department at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. Today I had to say goodbye to Poland and the oddly rewarding memories I made over the past 90 days.

For the first time in my life, I was speechless for three days in a row. No matter how hard I tried, I could not mentally process that I had to leave. Have you ever seen the movie, "Click"? It's a rather stupid Adam Sandler romantic comedy, but the point is, he ends up dreaming up the entire plot and waking up at the end of the movie realizing it was all a dream. That is what I am feeling right now. It seems unreal that I worked at Auschwitz in Poland for three months and now I am returning to the United States. I am, however, returning with a new appreciation for Poland, profoundly greater knowledge of the Holocaust and the role of Auschwitz, too many books, too little money, a new lifelong and international group of friends, and even a tattoo. Although, what I am leaving behind is far greater. How does one say goodbye to a place that witnessed millions of murders and, ironically, my personal, professional and academic growth? How does one say goodbye to family, as co-workers and friends quickly became? How does one say goodbye to European airlines that give out full sandwiches and unlimited drinks, unlike the semi-stale pretzels and spoonful of water given to passengers aboard airlines from the United States? And, no I am not bitterly writing this post on the airplane while watching newly released movies.

I know I wouldn't not have had this experience if it wasn't for the Northeastern co-op program and, of course, the never-ending work of Malgosia Wosinska. However, I cannot help but be frustrated it's the seemingly constant farewell bids.  I hate goodbyes, but, then again, so does everybody. I did my best to take my mother's advice and replace "goodbye" with "see you later." It was a little awkward returning to Auschwitz II-Birkenau and say "see you later!" to the almost 5km piece of land, but in most other circumstances it worked. 

The success of saying "see you later," lies in its sincerity: I genuinely know that I will return to Oswiecim. I don't know when or with whom, but a town that saw me run, fall, break things, mature, learn and grow, deserves to be re-visited. When I find myself in Cologne, Berlin, Furstenberg, Kraków, Warsaw, Bielsko or Oswiecim, I have countless places to stay with the best company.

I will miss going to a corner shop and being able to buy pierogis and fresh bread for 10 cents. I will miss Poland's version of Italian food and sushi. I will miss the buses and trains that always seem to make me question where I would survive the never-ending turbulent trip. More than all of this, however, I will miss the people I experienced it with. 

To Andrea, Manish, Micha, Stephan, Macej (Matt), Anna, Kasia, Kasia II, Teresa, Edyta, Piotr, Piotr II, Jacek (Polish dad), Andrezj, Kiara, Dorota, Patricya, that one cab driver, pierogis, cini-minis, the police officers that drove me to the ATM, and, of course, Malgosia: thank you. Thank you for not only dealing with my presence, but also supporting me through the most difficult and rewarding experience of my college career. 

Na Razie, Poland.

Malgosia, Manish and I on our last day of work