At the airport, after a brutal two hours of sleep and more adulting than I am usually able to handle, I feel myself slip back into that person already. Bare-bones me, haunter of airports. Pink hair, sweatpants, backpack, sad music in my ears (I was in love with the place in my mind, in my mind, I made a lot of mistakes in my mind, in my mind).
After the intensity of the past few days, I’ve been waiting for this: a return to form. I order a truly horrid latte at Exki. Later I’ll go look at the books, strategically place a copy of Good Omens in front of the Cassandra Clares. This is old hat. What comes next is… unknown, in a way that scares me. I am not prepared. This whole trip was a spur of the moment thing and I don’t know how I’ll fare in this very foreign world. But I do get a thrill when the check-in lady announces my final destination. Tokyo. Oh my god.
I still feel the same way I did when I went to San Francisco two years ago. About bringing my fucked up self on this trip and being scared of circumstances as well as myself. With the added bonus of knowing my past self had the same worries and pulled through. With confidence boosted up by the fact that I am now less shit at making friends. But still. How will I measure up?
That thing where they put free-to-use pianos in train stations and airports: I’m obviously very into that. I was waiting for my gate to be announced when someone started playing Bohemian Rhapsody, like an angel sent by Santa to bless my trip. Happy Mercurymass, everybody.
“I think the reason I am doing this is because I enjoy proving myself wrong”, I write in a black notebook, so exhausted I have trouble staying upright, watching the sun rise over Gate A.
Waiting for my connecting flight in Frankfurt, I chat with a very nice Tunisian lady whose husband is Belgian. She informs me that Belgium is shit, “there’s nothing to see there”, and its people are boring. Haha. I yote.
I think of how truly unprepared I am as sleep keeps escaping my numerous attempts to catch it. It is 7pm my time, 3am local time. Four more hours caged in this metal bird. What I want to do right now is sleep. Or sing harmonies. Or write a poem. What I don’t want to do is watch the end of X-Men Dark Phoenix. I hate planes.
SONG CREDITS: Chicago – Sufjan Stevens