Sitting in the desolate airport, I wait for my flight to be called. I keep repeating to myself that this is it but the words hold no meaning. The actuality of the situation lingers passed me, and I watch it from a far. The flight attendant yells over the speakers that boarding is beginning, rows 12-20 can now board. I look around, sadness eliminating from my face, my eyes fixated on the doors, my legs unable to move. I feel numb, and wonder what that means. Still, I dissociate from the idea that I am leaving a place that I made and call a home. I am going back to New York, but what is that place now? So much has changed for me, and so much has changed there. What is my place there now? I do not know.
The flight attendant grabs my ticket, wishing me a safe flight. I mutter up a “thank you” and smile politely back at her. I look ahead at the passengers boarding, and those still behind me. I want to run out of the airport and back to my apartment but my legs keep moving my forward. This is it, I am going back to New York, I am going back to my parent’s house on Long Island. The words now stick to me like glue, the numbness dissipates into the air.
Tears build in my eyes as we begin to take-off, I hold them back not wanting to make scene. I look out the window, taking one last look at Australia, and whisper “see you later.”