When you’ve traveled around the world as much as I have, you eventually reach this point of indifference where the idea of migrating yet again leaves you feeling like this:
|(Only Ryan Gosling can make such a non-committal gesture and look so dang attractive in the process but that’s besides the point)|
Some may say that this is unhealthy, and by some, I mean my very significant inner voice. To quote:
‘How could you be so horrible? You owe it to your friends, and to yourself to feel the least bit sad! What about all the memories you’ve made here? Don’t you feel something; as small as that ‘something’ may be?’
But I didn’t listen. I didn’t even feel numb; just empty all through out the chilly (and may I add miserable) morning of the 9th of December as we “heave-hoed” our luggage out of the cramped Travelodge room and into the taxi. I could see it written on my parents’ faces too without having to ask; there’s not much they would miss about England either. The emotions they revealed were of weariness and dread at the thought of the stressful months that awaited us. I, on the other hand, had zero capacity left of my “feels” compartment to spare. This was simply going to be one among many pit-stops in my journey through life.
Fast-forward a couple hours
I’m seated in a plane moving along the runway, ear phones popped in, eyes fixed on the seat in front of me. At this point, I did start to feel human again but for a reason I wasn’t too happy about. The woman seated in front of me had already put her seat on push-back position – and may I inform you that this is not allowed. Airplane regulations are there for a reason, people!
And for a person with long legs such as myself, it’s also additional torture. The urge to knee the backside of her seat was undeniable. Forgive me for I digress.
The point is that I didn’t have the least bit of interest to look out the window, and over England for the last time as we took off into the air. Amidst Ed Sheeran’s lovely voice singing and the music pumping through the ear phones, the irony of the situation sunk into me. I’d face-planted myself against the window a year and a half ago as we’d moved into England, excitement overflowing. Now? Nada.
Majority of the time on the flight was spent contemplating what lay ahead.
Cairo, Egypt was my destination. The land of the pharaohs, home to one of the greatest wonders of the world, and setting of possibly my favourite animated movie ever (that’s right, I’m talking ’bout ‘The Prince of Egypt’)
|That’s a more morbid picture than I was going for but still…WITNESS THE GLORY OF THIS MAGICAL CITY!|
It won’t be my first time. I was returning to this country after nearly a decade. Most, if not all, of my memories of life in Cairo were obscure (granted I’d been nothing more than a child last I’d lived there). Yet, shouldn’t the thought of returning have sparked excitement? Cairo was where it all began.
And yet, throughout the five hour journey, the only thing that really grew was my irritation towards the (literally) laid-back passenger in front of me. I was aware of the foolishness of holding such feelings and with every second that ticked by, it begun to dawn upon me more clearly that I was directing my annoyance towards a complete stranger, as irrational a reason as I could find.
I was turning over a page to a new chapter in my life and I felt nothing. Perhaps, the source of my negativity was my blankness towards everything that was going on.
I was really just angry with the laid-back version of myself.