I sit crossed legged, half dazed, in Changi airport, Singapore. My head aches faintly whether because of lack of sleep or lack of caffeine I’m unsure but the feeling leaves my brain tender, thoughts hazy. The sun is rising as I sit, though I haven’t experienced night yet. It was morning when I left London and then there was a timeless void somewhere inbetween here and there, up in the heavens where humans haven’t had their meticulous measuring ways just yet. But now dawn is breaking again and its already tomorrow and I’ve travelled through time, this last fact has me in a stupor, eyes squinting, subdued by the magic of it all. Time travel, wow. And though I left my teary eyed parents behind and felt homesick somewhere around breakfast time (which was actually dinner in the sky where we were living in tomorrow) on the plane I’m yet to allow the panic to hit.
My viens thrum, heart beats a little quicker, letting me know that somewhere the anxiety is creeping, though not about the flight or the prospect of living on the other side of the globe but instead about the people I have yet to meet. But it’s okay because the thrill of adventure is thrumming deliciously through my veins and the line between my reality and hearty imaginings is blurring for the first time in my life and despite the distant jibes from my killjoy subconscious, about lowering my expectations and not getting carried away, my domineering gypsy soul is finally in control and she is the most liberated she’s ever felt.
I can feel myself becoming someone else but that’s comforting because this new person, she smiles at me with reckless promises and embraces me unconditionally as we meet. This is it, finally, I’m living.