I left town at four in the morning. Four in the morning
isn’t really even morning. I guess especially to a person who sees four am more
than she used to--but usually through the lens of alcohol and late night
shenanigans. Four in the morning when
waking up after having gone to bed is more like weird surrealist torture where
everything is more confusing and time doesn’t seem to pass at all and suddenly
you are in an airport terminal and it’s light outside and you can barely even
remember checking in. I remember saying
goodbye to my mom and watching her disappear when I went up the escalator.
The plane was the smallest thing I’ve ever seen. I tried not to panic and instead went to sleep. I woke up when the flight attendant brought me water. I didn’t wake up when she came by and took away my garbage. We landed. I was confused. My dad picked me up. I went to a couple jobs with him and I fell asleep as we drove from Hollywood to Redondo Beach, with my mouth wide open and my tongue drying out. We got to my grandma’s and in her usual manner, she made way too much food and kept offering to make more. She seemed especially happy to have made so many vegetarian options for me. I fell asleep on the couch. I acquired over $100 from cards given to me by my aunts and uncles and my grandmother. I feel a bit more relieved knowing I have that extra cash in my pocket. Maybe I won’t wilt away from starvation while homeless in Tbilisi. My grandma blabbered a bit about how I wasn’t allowed to leave the airport in Istanbul, and I definitely wasn’t allowed to start dating a Muslim and began on a tangent which was basically racist and ridiculous. I zoned out and thought about how amazing it would be to get a Muslim boyfriend and tell my grandma about it.
I’m waiting at the gate for my Turkish Airlines flight. When I called my mother to say goodbye she was really excited to hear about the different types of people who may be on a flight to Istanbul. I hadn’t even thought about it. So far, most people look Turkish. The children are adorable. Especially the little girl wearing Minnie Mouse ears and a pink dress with a long black braid going down her entire back. She pushes her little sister’s stroller back and forth in front of me and says “hi” and smiles at me every time. Her baby sister stares at me with giant brown bug eyes as glittery as her earrings. Their mother is covered from head to toe in rose pink silk with only her eyes showing. A few other women are wearing colorful scarves over their hair. There are typical middle-aged tourists with their passport holders hanging around their neck. And a few young guys with their iPads, headphones and tapping feet. There is an orthodox Jew with an impressive beard. I heard some people checking in at the desk who are connecting to Israel. There is a young guy who looks just like a guy I knew in college, and I keep making awkward eye-contact with him. The man who printed my boarding passes pronounced Tbilisi how it’s meant to be, and I suddenly felt excited to go back when this whole time I wasn’t sure if I was. But, მე ვარ ბედნიერე. It’s kind of like going back home.
The plane was the smallest thing I’ve ever seen. I tried not to panic and instead went to sleep. I woke up when the flight attendant brought me water. I didn’t wake up when she came by and took away my garbage. We landed. I was confused. My dad picked me up. I went to a couple jobs with him and I fell asleep as we drove from Hollywood to Redondo Beach, with my mouth wide open and my tongue drying out. We got to my grandma’s and in her usual manner, she made way too much food and kept offering to make more. She seemed especially happy to have made so many vegetarian options for me. I fell asleep on the couch. I acquired over $100 from cards given to me by my aunts and uncles and my grandmother. I feel a bit more relieved knowing I have that extra cash in my pocket. Maybe I won’t wilt away from starvation while homeless in Tbilisi. My grandma blabbered a bit about how I wasn’t allowed to leave the airport in Istanbul, and I definitely wasn’t allowed to start dating a Muslim and began on a tangent which was basically racist and ridiculous. I zoned out and thought about how amazing it would be to get a Muslim boyfriend and tell my grandma about it.
I’m waiting at the gate for my Turkish Airlines flight. When I called my mother to say goodbye she was really excited to hear about the different types of people who may be on a flight to Istanbul. I hadn’t even thought about it. So far, most people look Turkish. The children are adorable. Especially the little girl wearing Minnie Mouse ears and a pink dress with a long black braid going down her entire back. She pushes her little sister’s stroller back and forth in front of me and says “hi” and smiles at me every time. Her baby sister stares at me with giant brown bug eyes as glittery as her earrings. Their mother is covered from head to toe in rose pink silk with only her eyes showing. A few other women are wearing colorful scarves over their hair. There are typical middle-aged tourists with their passport holders hanging around their neck. And a few young guys with their iPads, headphones and tapping feet. There is an orthodox Jew with an impressive beard. I heard some people checking in at the desk who are connecting to Israel. There is a young guy who looks just like a guy I knew in college, and I keep making awkward eye-contact with him. The man who printed my boarding passes pronounced Tbilisi how it’s meant to be, and I suddenly felt excited to go back when this whole time I wasn’t sure if I was. But, მე ვარ ბედნიერე. It’s kind of like going back home.
No comments:
Post a Comment