It snowed over night. I can see the white field against the backdrop of the black dawn. Birds chirping. Pick-up trucks heading out somewhere making ways on the snow filled streets. Quiet silence. No one on the street. Everything tells me that I am far from my current ‘home town’ located in the outskirt of D.C. I stand on the deck in the thin coat of snow,  holding my hot mug. It’s cold. I feel the sneeze coming in reaction, but the dim glow of the street lights makes my heart feel so warm. It feels like Christmas. Long lost Christmas.

When was the last time that I felt this pure? Without any concern, worry or care in the world, but only the pure joy of being? Occasionally, there were those magical moments. I’ve had those momentary highs in between the lows but those never came with a sense of arrival.

It’s funny that I should feel this way because I am far from arriving. I am here on this southern land to help my parents move. They are leaving this land where they spent the last three years farming, gardening, cooking, praying, working and living with simplicity.

I arrived here a little more than 10 years ago for the first time, fresh from Seoul, the metropolitan city. This village was a huge shock for me. Back then, there were cotton fields near the house that I lived in, looking almost as white as the snow covered field I am looking at right now. It was the same hue of white, but back then, it was nothing like the white purity I am feeling right now. It only reminded me of the cotton. I was living in a town where there was a cotton field. I was in a big shock for a long time.

Now the cotton field is gone. A new development plan has invaded that vast field and I think it is now a telecommunication firm. My ex-husband is gone, my dog is gone, and most of my friends are gone, all have moved on riding the rhythm of life. Life goes on. For the cotton field, for the people, for the dog, and for this town, life has moved on, and is moving on.

And I guess after all those years spent stuck somewhere in between the many worlds -both visible and invisible- it is finally time for me to move on just as the others have. I’ve got no more attachments left in this town once my parents pack up and leave with me. The last attachment I have left behind here, I am brining with me. My parents won’t be far any more. We will always be together. I will never run away from them again.

In leaving, there is an arrival.

Actually leaving and arriving are the same things.

It turns out that they are fraternal twins with two opposite names.

The morning has come and it is now time for me to walk to the nearby horse farm. I have enjoyed walking to see those horses every time I came back here to visit my parents. That ever unchanging scenery of the horses at the stable has been adding timeless value to my unstable life. Some things never change. They never leave or arrive. They are simply there. Like the wind. Like the snow. Like my parents. Like my soul. Like God. Some things bigger than life never change. They are always there.

I say hello to the horses. They know that my hello is always goodbye at the same time. They know I will come and go as God wills me. Like the seasons come and go, like the flowers bloom and die, unattached to all things including my own life, but only attached to God, I come and go here on earth until my final arrival.

There, I will stay.

There, I will rest.

But here on earth, I’ve got some places to go and things to do. I am always leaving, yet always arriving.

So.

Hello.

And.

Goodbye.