Author's Note: Before I share today’s final article, I want to rectify something left out of last week’s. I thanked all of you, my readers, but failed to mention the other people so important to making sure my articles were available and read. So, thank you Trick and Adam for running a site I was proud to write for and for challenging me to improve my content and skills. Thanks go to all of the editors who have handled my articles as well; you have massaged my mess of writing into something worthy of print. Finally, a big thank you to all of those mentioned for putting up with my erratic schedule and occasionally tardy articles. (Yes, this is one of them.)

I stuffed my laptop into my bag and threw it over my shoulder. As I turned the corner, my eyes raced to search every last space of my new view, one that allowed me to look back into the airport’s public area. She wasn’t there. They had searched my bag, resulting in a few minutes’ delay through security, but I had been sure she would be there waiting for me. Instead, I found emptiness.

How was she going to wait for me over the coming months, separated by half a world, if she couldn’t do it here?

“What kind of pain is it?” my mother asked.

“Like a clamp, on either side of my head, crushing it.”

“Maybe it’s leftover from his bronchitis last year?” my dad suggested. “Try yawning, and clean out your ears if you can.”

I tried both, but the pain didn’t seem to want to go away. “It’s not working!”

“Is it that bad? We’ll be landing soon, and then it should be all better.” My mother was trying to soothe me, but all I could think about was the pain.

I had been terrified of flying. Images of fiery crashes and sudden drops out of the sky in my dreams were only encouraged by the tiny prop plane we boarded that cold winter morning. We hadn’t crashed, but the pain did nothing to make me believe flying was an acceptable means of transportation. “Would it be worth all of this trouble to visit Disneyworld?” my nine-year-old self wondered in some small corner of his mind. At that moment, I didn’t care. I just wanted the pain to stop.

“Of what?”

“Of being separated. I’ve never been separated from someone I love. What if you forget me or find a pretty American girl? What if you get tired of being separated from me and decide you don’t want to deal with an international marriage?”

It was a week before we would leave Melbourne. We were taking one last day to relax before our final week of work and packing.

I soothed her as best I could, countering each fear with reason and reassurance. I knew it wouldn’t solve the problem, but hoped it would alleviate some of her worries. The truth was: I was just as scared as she. I knew she wasn’t truly worried about me finding another woman. Her actual fears were of loneliness and sadness. I held those same burning coals.

That was my thinking before we left.

Once I set foot in that RV and we crossed the Mississippi, I was smitten. I was glad we didn’t stop in Kansas, but boy did I enjoy staring across the plains and daydreaming all day. When we stopped at night, I would happily jump out and go in search of walking trails or interesting sights in and around the camping grounds. Why would I want to go home to Smalltown, Pennsylvania? I had a bed to sleep in, and the world was my playground.

“Man, it’s great to see you! How the hell have you been?”

“So, what’re you up to? Coming back to Philly? I doubt there are many architecture jobs right now.”

“Yea, I’m done with architecture. I love Philly, but I’m hoping to move to the west coast. I’m aiming to end up in Seattle or San Fran. Closer to Japan and all that. Plus, the jobs I want are out there.”

“Makes sense. What’re you looking to do?”

“I’m trying to break into the game industry—analog, not digital. I’ve been writing about it for over two years, and got a gig freelancing for Wizards of the Coast a little while back, so I’ve got my foot in the door.”

“Damn dude. That’s awesome! Good luck!”

“Thanks, man. So, what’ve you been up to lately?”

My father looked at me pointedly, stressing his seriousness. I wanted to look away. Now wasn’t the time to talk about this. If I had any say, we’d never talk about it.

I didn’t want to face reality: that I hadn’t found a job after three months and that it was time to look beyond positions in the game industry. I kept telling myself that I was already doing so by searching for “easier” openings at game companies—marketing and the like, positions fewer people might apply to. I never heard back from those applications.

He started talking again. As I listened, excuses slowly crawled up my spine, slowly scaled the back of my head, and burrowed between my thoughts, waiting in the shadows for the right word or phrase to pop out and masquerade as a thought of my own.

She stuck her tongue out at me and smiled. It was a joke we shared, one created from living two-and-a-half hours apart for the first two years of our relationship. It was my way of reminding her that I wasn’t going anywhere and her way of asserting independence. It worked well.

Except now it was real.

We were on a plane bound for Australia, visas in hand. We had no jobs, no place to live, and nothing but clothes in our suitcases, but we were together. No more weekend commutes, no more nights alone. When we tired of Australia, we would settle down in America and get married. Things were proceeding as planned.

“What do you mean? Should I come back to Japan?”

“No. I don’t know if we should be together. I’m tired of waiting. I can’t keep living like this.”

I was speechless.

I had known there would be rough times. I knew there would be days when we wanted it all to end, but I had held on to the belief that no matter what, we’d be together again. That feeling of security shattered, falling into the darkness and leaving me on the teetering edge of despair.

We finished our conversation, but neither of us could muster the energy required to feign happiness or hope. I turned off Skype, closed my laptop, and then curled into a ball to cry.

When my final year of college came around, there was one thing I remembered from all of those classes, however . . . something that had grabbed ahold of me the first time I had heard it that first semester sophomore year: the JET Programme.

I had become entranced with the idea that one could live in a foreign country without any requirements beyond the ability to speak English fluently. Being able to do so in Japan, a country that seemed almost mystical and unreachable, made that ability all the more alluring. I applied in my final year of college and was accepted. I wouldn’t return to America for four years.

“Nah, I’m back for about two weeks to see folks and spend Christmas with the family.”

“Well, it’s good to see you! I read your blog and check out your pictures sometimes at work. It’s awesome, man. I couldn’t do it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, leaving friends and family, leaving the job. I couldn’t live somewhere else. It’d be too strange.”

I didn’t know. Leaving friends and family had been hard, but the Internet made the distance much smaller. Leaving my old job had been easy. As for the strange surroundings, that’s why I went to Japan in the first place! What’s the point of living in another country if you surround yourself with the same old comforts?

I chalked the thought up to different values and carried on with the conversation. We had a lot of catching up to do.

I was watching a movie and writing next week’s article when Gmail told me I had new mail. I clicked on the tab to find an e-mail waiting for me. This was it. This is what I had been waiting for since my interview. What would I find inside? I clicked on the bold text.

I had made it! I had accomplished my goal of breaking into the game industry full-time. The past six months were over. They could vanish into memory.

By the time you read this article, I’ll have flown back to Japan to (legally) marry my fiancée so that we may start the tedious process of acquiring for her an American visa. There will have been no celebration with friends and family, no dresses and tuxedos worn, and no presents and blessings received. It will have been marked with the quiet flourish of a pen and the uninspiring exchange of money for a piece of paper. That is enough.

It is time I rode into the sunset, a hero of my own story. Where will you end up the next time you go out your door?