5 hours into my flight, and another 5 to go.
There’s really no better time to reflect on life than when one is stuck on a plane, virtually confined within a 2 by 2 feet space. I had opted for the best aisle seat in the house, exit row responsibilities and all, but this one came with a broken entertainment system. Is this a sign? Should I be resting?
I’ve been surviving on adrenaline (in other words caffeine) since Monday, and was still packing when the car came to pick me up for the airport. Endless email chains, client meetings, capability off-sites, project handoffs, and more emails. When work was over, there were other necessities to concern myself over: picking up the dry cleaning, purchasing foreign currency at the bank, checking in with the insurance company, finding the right birthday gift for the lil’ sister, getting laundry out of the way and making sure I had something essentially Californian for a family friend I’m meeting. I slept less than 6hrs each day and felt each night, as if my head was putting up a strike with its painful throbbing.
So what does a girl do in a situation like this? She makes a conscious decision to end it all and accept the fact that there’s nothing much she could achieve once she got on the plane. After all, I’m going on vacation! How could I forget that?
Easily it seems.
If the bf were here, he’d make silly jokes to ease my furrowed brows. And I’d suppress my laughter so as to not give him the benefit of knowing he has so successfully been the relaxed party in our almost 4-year-long relationship. He’d then wrap his arms around mine and murmur, “Try to sleep hon. Just try.” I’d be annoyed at him for suggesting the obvious and scowl as I do whatever I could to keep him awake. Depending on his mood he’d a) frown and reluctantly play cards with me, keeping awake with iced Coke b) stay asleep leaving me no choice but to snuggle up against his chest and sleep in the comfort of his warmth and scent.
I’ve been on too many long flights alone to let myself enjoy this reflective moment. Majority of them came with painful goodbyes, which makes me wonder if that’s the reason why I often dread packing and departures regardless of the destination. And yet when asked, I always say I want nothing more than a job that allows global travel. Perhaps my desire for cultural exposure outweighs my dislike of flights. Or perhaps I have hope that I’d have enough opportunities to travel with loved-ones in the future to outgrow this loathing. I can’t tell.
Right now, I’m so afraid that my shuffle would run out of battery. Since my nano was stolen (2 weeks ago, suspiciously by someone within my office building), I’ve had to live with this teeny spare. It belongs to the bf, neatly tucked away in his “wire drawer” with spare chargers and earphones (still wrapped in plastic!). This makes me smile.
The bf’s an
awfully unsurprisingly private person, and having me “declare my love” for him is unnerving, but I really can’t help it. I know, as with every other relationship, there’s always a chance that things won’t work out and that if it were to happen I’d have these archived posts to remind me of the loss. Oddly so, this has always been a fear of some friends, but never mine. In the present, I know that I love him very much, and that I can’t imagine my life now if we hadn’t been together. And if the world already knows, it’s not a secret anymore. It won’t make a difference 5 or 10 years later.
There are so many other things I can list about him and about us that make me smile even more but I’ll save that for now, and savor the moments as I try to sleep just as he would ask of me.