It was eleven days ago already that I was making the 30+ hour journey home which included a four hour layover in Taipei and an unexpected two hour layover in Los Angeles after my direct flight to NY was cancelled. I was ready and anxious to board the plane in Bangkok, awake most of the time thanks to the man next to me who fidgeted and farted from Taipei to LA. The California coastline from the plane window never looked so good.
I relished the logical systems that dictate an American airport -- roped off queues, computerized check in, television monitors with arrivals and departures -- and the high gloss of clean corridors lit by flourescent bulbs. My phone card worked again. I got giddy just being able to make phonecalls on any old payphone. I bought french fries and a water for $5, more than I would have spent on a days worth of meals just a week before.
One more short hop landed me in Newark, NJ and another short cab ride to NYC. All my energy since I had been puking my guts up in Bhutan had been directed at getting home. Nothing could dampen my spirits. Not the man at the baggage carousel who told me off when I reached in front of him for my bag. Not the $60 cab ride into the city. Not the Saturday night traffic to cross town on Houston.
The dog was so happy to see me he peed on the floor. My boyfriend was pretty happy too, but practiced bladder control. The adrenaline rush kept my jet lag at bay.
I took another vacation. Me, my boyfriend and the dog spent a week holed up at the beach, staying in from the cold, wind and rain as much as possible. I slept off my jet lag. I remained SARS free.
And now I'm back for real, inundated with the obligations that come with being home. Email, phone calls, taxes, finding a job, finding an apartment, making the bed, washing dishes. And with the obligations, time speeds up. Hours and days pass you by without hesitation, without pause. The list of things to do, people to call, places to go grows every day. My walking pace has accelerated back to normal. My father called for the tenth time in a day and I felt the familiar feeling of annoyance creeping in, the elation I felt for the first few days slipping away.
That elation I felt the first few days back. That ability to appreciate all the familiar sounds and smells of home. The bump of the front door closing behind me when I walk into my apartment building. The clang of the dog's collar against his water bowl. The iron railings and wide stoops of the brownstones on West 11th street. The wide sidewalks and glamorous store windows of Fifth Avenue. The snippets of street conversation that I can understand again. The different colored skins and styles that you walk among. The ability to throw toilet paper in the toilet rather than in the garbage can next to the toilet. Watching my youngest niece shove fistfuls of food in and around her mouth. Measuring the hands of my oldest niece against my own. A good slice of pizza. A good burrito.
Now all I need to find is a heaping plate of fried morning glory over rice for under a $.50...
