"Flight 239 is ready for pre-boarding. All passengers with small children or those that need assistance, please board now." The airline hostess' voice crackled over the speakers.
"I am a small child, lets go." As always, I had to say the regular joke.
"Haha, you are a little too big to pass for that." Mom said as she smiled without opening her eyes.
Damn… and as usual I was hoping it might work this time. That way we could actually get on the plane without all the jostling and I could get back to attempting to sleep. But no such luck, not that I really expected any, being 5' 11, I know my mom was right. Everyone thinks I am way older than I actually am as well. But I always try. I flicked my thumb around the controller of my iPod, to turn up the volume and block out the annoying man jabbering on his cell phone behind me. I have been lying on the most uncomfortable row of chairs in existence for the past 5 hours. I estimate that I have gotten about 30 minutes of sleep all together, give or take a few minutes. I huff and throw my arm back over my eyes, so I don't have to look at the glaring fluorescent lights.
What seems like an hour later someone pokes me in the stomach and I jump to my feet, stuff my iPod in my Nautica sweatshirt pocket (all the way from the outlet stores in Wan Chai) and I'm wide awake, roaring to go and ready to fight my way to the front of the line.
The voice is now telling the exhausted group of travelers in the waiting room:
"Flight 239 to Heathrow Airport from Saint John's is ready for boarding. Flight 239 is now ready for boarding." I hoist my red Canadian roots backpack that is about to burst at the seams on my back, which makes me haunch over like an old lady and I continue to pile a huge, blue, Nike sports bag over my shoulder.
I run to the ticket desk in record time, for once managing not to trip. My parents and older sister are hot on my heels. Only three people managed to get in front of me and lucky for them I am too tired to be in a bad mood or they would have to watch out. The air hostess gives me one of those sickly sweet smiles that make me grimace, as she takes my ticket and puts it through that little machine thing. She checks over my passport that if I may say so myself, looks great in a Louis Vuitton cover (which I never admit to anyone is fake). She hands it back after making sure the exhausted looking girl in front of her is the same one shown in the really bad passport photo. At least it's not as bad as it used to be when I still had a wrinkly baby picture.
I stomp down the corridor to the plane and glance behind to make sure the rest of my family is coming. After a few twists and turns I reach the plane and get stuck in the aisle because of all the bags hanging off me. The business class passengers are looking at me like I am freak, which I can't disagree with. I finally get to collapse in the window seat that I got only after fighting with my sister for over an hour last night. But, typically, most of my view is obstructed by the stupid wing. Seriously, why do they need to make them so big?? Not like they are THAT important.
So there I was. But where was I? That is the question. As usual I was somewhere that had to do with a plane, either waiting for one, waiting to take off, flying, waiting to land, waiting for someone to get on a plane and leave or waiting for someone to get off a plane and return. My life story in a nutshell. Almost. That is where this story is going. Or hopefully is going if I ever have time to pen it all… Hahah pen it.. As if! I never use a pen, good ol' technology for me thanks. I have a teeny, tiny, shiny, silvery laptop that is literally my life.
Anyways, back on track. When people ask me about myself, I can find no other definition than travel. I don't do anything else. It is my favourite part of my life and also the most hated. I love the new landscapes, cultures, languages, people, everything. But, then there is the jet leg, the stiff backs after being squished in a tiny seat for hours in the same position, trying to sleep standing up in the lines and living off 'food' that looks and tastes like plastic. But most of all, I miss never really having a place to call home. We are always moving, but never have time to fully unpack. Heaven forbid we actually stay in one place.
Right, so where was I going with this? Right so lucky you, you of all people to get hear the other side of the story! But that's not all! There is actually something that makes this trip different from all the rest and I am not talking about new sight seeing locations and a new apartment. If you want to find out what I blabbering on about, you will just have to read on! (Man that sounded lame)
