Its 3:34 in the morning and my eyes are heavy from a week of exhaustion. The last 24 hours of sporadic crying have definitely not helped my situation. My carry-on baggage somehow passed through the weight check even tho they both feel like 100 pounds in my arms. Packing was a hellish experience and I’m not even sure if I’m fully done with that yet I’m wracking my brain to think of what crucial items I somehow forgot to squeeze into the cracks of my luggage.
I’m about to fly from JFK to Trinidad and (finally) to Grenada. My voice is hoarse and I’m already nostalgic for my bed but I’m hoping my eyes will soon open after a long nap at 30,000 feet to my beautiful new home. I keep trying to imagine what the next 24 hours is going to hold for me and it’s an impossible feat. I would like to think it will be a peaceful experience. Instead, flashes of images all seem to be filled with awkward first encounters, frustrating airport transfers, and an overwhelming feeling of delirium.
Somehow, behind my glassy eyes, through the pessimistic collage, I am still excited. I’m just waiting (im)patiently to get to seat 24D at gate A3 and to feel my stomach drop as the combination of speed and wind lifts me off the ground and closer to the stars.