Little Pieces of Ourselves

The ukuleles were still lined up on the shelf when I walked into the classroom for the last time.
Today was my final day teaching English and ukulele at an international after-school school in Chigasaki.

I didn’t expect to cry. I told myself I’d keep it together — say goodbye, pack up my things, and walk out the same way I walked in.
But when I looked at my students, it hit me: this wasn’t just a job ending.

It was a goodbye to a version of myself I had shared with them.

It’s strange how endings reveal the quiet ways we’ve been shaped all along.

Trevor Noah once said that when we meet people, we give them little pieces of ourselves — and they give us pieces of them.

I’ve been thinking about that all day.

Every laugh we shared in class, every mistake we laughed through, every song we played together — those moments were small exchanges of spirit.
Over the years, my students carried away little fragments of me: my humor, my patience, my love for words, my rhythm.

And in return, they gave me their curiosity, their chaos, their resilience, and a kind of childlike wonder I didn’t realize I’d been missing.

When one of them waved from the doorway — clutching the ukulele we’d practiced Stand by Me on — I felt something inside me tighten and release all at once.

As I closed the classroom door for the last time, the silence felt heavy.
Not empty — just full of all the things I couldn’t say.

I’ve been changing so much lately. Running. Fasting. Counseling. Peeling back layers I used to hide behind.
But change always comes with loss. And today reminded me that even when growth is good, it still hurts.

There’s a part of my nervous system that clings to what’s familiar — to the daily rhythm of laughter, the small “good mornings,” the shared chaos of kids learning something new.
That part of me didn’t want to let go.

But maybe that’s what love does.

Maybe it teaches us to give ourselves away — to leave little echoes of who we were in the lives we’ve touched.
Those pieces of me will keep living out there somewhere: in a kid humming a song we practiced, in the way someone greets their next English teacher, in the quiet confidence of trying again after a mistake.

And the pieces they gave me? They’re still here too — shaping the counselor, the father, and the man I’m becoming.

Maybe that’s all any of us can do — keep trading small pieces of ourselves, hoping the ones we give bring light to someone else’s day.

Tonight, I’m letting myself feel it all — the sadness, the gratitude, the weight of it.
Maybe I’ll have something sweet, not out of sadness, but as a small toast to what was good.

Because goodbyes don’t mean endings.
They mean you loved something enough for it to hurt when it’s time to go.

💭 Have you ever felt that quiet ache — realizing a part of you now lives in someone else?
I think that’s how we stay connected — not through holding on, but through the pieces we’re brave enough to give away.