What's "c'est la vie" in Chinese?

Peiting was one of the first people I met in Taiwan, and with the exception of this twenty-year-old Honduran named John who I hardly ever see, she's the only person remaining from my "old life"—my life back in Muzha, when I was still studying and living with Matt and Ellen, and we had dinner parties and a dog.

Peiting is leaving tomorrow. I saw her Sunday for the last time in the foreseeable future. I've known for a long time when she was going to leave, but I never really thought about it. You can't think about it here, because everybody leaves, and if you do think about that too much you just feel rotten. I remember when I paternal grandmother was living in a retirement community, and people she knew were always dying. It might be a little melancholy or melodramatic to make that comparison, but it's apt in some way or another.

I remember when Wei-en left. She had a big party at her irritating friend's house. It was supposed to go all night, but people were tired and she had to pack for her morning flight, so around three or four we all started to file out. She had to do the goodbye-pictures thing, but after that was done she disappeared. Then, when we left, we saw her outside the door, saying goodbye to everyone and crying.

Some are less depressing, of course. But even those—it seems like every month someone leaves. Maybe war would be a better analogy than a retirement community. I live way out in the boondocks, so I don't get to see even my good friends that much, and when I do, it could often be (and often is) the last time I'll see them. The other day I added and cleaned out a bunch of numbers to and from my phone. I've been doing that a lot recently.

So this is getting a little depressing. I sat down half-hoping to write something intelligent about all this, but I guess today was not the day. As Peiting would say, 人之常情.