We touched down in London Heathrow Airport yesterday.
Between the frantic packing and hurried goodbyes of pre-depature, and the chaos of Heathrow upon arrival, I had 14 hours of quiet time on the plane. The mellow light and constant humming of the engines makes the mind rather hazy, and the whole atmosphere seemed rather melancholic. (Watching an unexpectedly morbid Japanese movie didn’t help much).
I felt a familiar pang inside. One that had caused me many restless nights and anxious days. The one that I first felt when leaving suddenly became real.
What makes goodbyes so hard? Is it the fear of missing out? Or the fear that things will never be the same again? The fear of loneliness?
In my clouded mind, I remembered one big sister from my part-time job, looking at me with a half affectionate and half exasperated smile as I struggled to tell her about how I felt in broken Mandarin, and telling me, that life is like that – we keep moving forward. We say goodbye, and keep on going.
I’m probably a little bit too attached to my friends (including dog and sister) – is what I thought, there on the plane. I hold on to them a little bit too tightly, for security’s sake.
It’s probably about time I came back to walking my own path. Perhaps soon I’ll get used to the rhythm of this city, and find some things to treasure here. Perhaps somewhere along the way, I’ll discover where my heart can really come home to. Perhaps, that place is not somewhere here in the visible world.
Ah, the train of thought is threatening to run off the tracks now.
For now, I’m thankful – thankful that I have something that makes saying goodbye so hard. Thankful I have a path to walk on, and people who will walk it with me.
And amidst all the loneliness and confusion of a 14 hour flight from Singapore to London, sometimes being thankful is about the very best a girl can do.
Bun sits beside my Singapore Sling.