How I learnt to appreciate goodbyes – even the painful ones

CNA

06-06-2025

During a recent trip to Osaka, my husband and I took a one-day guided tour to Northern Kyoto where we stopped by scenic viewpoints such as Amanohashidate, Ine Fishing Village and Funaya. Our guide was a bespectacled, well-dressed Japanese man named Jay. We enjoyed his company very much – he was polite, thoughtful, and unexpectedly funny.
The bus arrived back in Osaka around 7pm. Before dispersing the tour group, Jay left us with this parting statement:
'In Japan, we don't say 'sayonara'. We say 'mata' because 'sayonara' usually means 'goodbye and I will not see you again'. 'Mata', on the other hand, means 'goodbye, and see you next time again'. So instead of saying 'sayonara' to you, I will say 'mata' because I will want to see you all again someday.'
His words stuck with me. Days passed, and still they lingered in my mind. Unable to shake the idea, I did some research to understand more.
The full Japanese term is 'mata itsuka' which directly translates to 'someday, again'. It is used when you're expressing a wish to either do something again (which was previously unsuccessfully attempted or unfortunately ended), or to meet someone again (even though you do not know if it will come true).
DIFFERENT SHADES OF 'GOODBYE'
'Goodbye' is a complicated word, often loaded with big feelings.
We've all had our fair share of saying goodbyes, and we say it all the time: A casual 'see you tomorrow' to a coworker at the end of the workday; a bittersweet farewell to a lover with whom you hope not to cross paths again; a sombre goodbye to a departed loved one, where you fervently wish for one final moment together.
Some goodbyes are light-hearted and full of gratitude.
On my trip to Osaka, I spent five days exploring the city and indulging in hearty street food. On the last day, I boarded the plane bound for Singapore. While it was being readied for take-off, I looked out of the window and saw the ground crew waving goodbye to us passengers on-board. I waved back – to thank the ground crew and also Osaka, for the days spent and memories forged.
Some goodbyes are uneasy and difficult – but necessary, to pave the way for new beginnings. This is when we close certain doors behind us, in order for new doors to be opened ahead of us.
In June 2022, I left my first corporate job – the job I'd had for seven years. It was the job that had seen me through young adulthood and even becoming a wife.
It was the place where I'd met colleagues who became dear friends, where I had bosses and mentors who opened up my world. We had bonded through afternoon bubble-tea breaks, birthdays and festive celebrations. It was the place where my career first sprouted – where I'd picked up and honed important skills for work I still use today, and learnt to speak up for myself.
Just going by my emotions, I wanted to stay. But I also knew staying put was not what I truly needed. I needed new ways to grow, new goals to work towards. So I made the difficult decision to say goodbye to the camaraderie, comfort and familiarity.
Recently, a friend of mine sold her matrimonial home of five years. During our conversation, she confessed that saying goodbye to the house was harder than she'd expected. She teared up recounting the times spent in the home that had seen her and her husband welcoming their bundle of joy, and all the milestones in their child's first few years of life.
She knew it was time for them to move to a bigger place. Still, it takes courage to move on and let something new take root.
WHEN 'GOODBYE' HURTS
Some goodbyes come with pain, loss and grief.
My dad lost my mother many years ago to cancer; and I lost him when he too died two years ago. Bidding Dad goodbye was probably the hardest farewell I've ever said.
My grandmother – my dad's mum – told me many years ago: 'There's nothing scary about death. You say bye-bye to everyone you love and go where you need to go next.' She is now 92 years old, and has outlived her husband and two sons – my grandpa, my uncle and, most recently, my father.
During my father's funeral, I'll never forget the sight of my grandmother bursting into tears when she saw his portrait placed in the middle of the altar. She wept and said: 'How can you just leave me alone and go off first?'
She'd been 'prepared' to say goodbye – but even rational understanding couldn't really protect her from the full hurt of a painful goodbye.
She's mostly bed-ridden now, and is sometimes unable to remember or recognise me as her granddaughter. Still, I always make sure to show up in her room whenever I visit for weekly family dinners to greet her: 'Ah Ma, I am Ah Bi. I'm here.'
Sometimes she remembers me; sometimes she doesn't. Sometimes she reaches for my hand; sometimes she is unresponsive. Occasionally, she asks, 'Why you never tell me you're coming? I could've asked the helper to cook more dishes' – forgetting that Sunday dinners are a weekly standing affair for our family.
Now, in her twilight years, I often remind myself to cherish and appreciate each moment with her a little more – because as clichéd as it sounds, we really do not know the true value of a moment until it becomes a memory.
Some goodbyes, we simply never get to say. It could be as simple as another phone call, another 'I love you', or even getting to say 'I'm sorry for not doing enough for you'.
But life doesn't always give us the opportunity for goodbyes or closure – and this is a grief of its own.
AGAIN, SOMEDAY
'Goodbye' doesn't just mark endings and changes. It reminds us that life is a series of comings and goings.
Sometimes we have regrets about the way things ended or changed. But what matters most is that we learn and grow from each goodbye – each ending and each loss – before we centre ourselves for new beginnings again.
We all need to learn to say goodbye to what is no longer meant for us, whether it's a job, a relationship, or even a fun hobby. We need grace and courage to walk away from something that no longer serves us, so that we can find something else that does – new opportunities and experiences, new chances to fall in love again, new interests that make us feel alive.
Not all things are forever, and that is perfectly okay.
Perhaps there may come a day where I rekindle old friendships that I thought were lost; where I reunite with people that I had once let go of; or where a door that had been shut to me will reopen.
When the time is right. When I am ready.
Till then, mata itsuka.
Chua Jia Ling, 32, is a bank executive.