Goodbyes and Flights to America

The actual flight to America starts two days before the time on the boarding pass. It starts with the nostalgic silence between me and home that both of us are overly sensitive to. It starts with the scent of various snacks being prepared in the kitchen, to ensure my proper nutrition in the week after I reach. It starts with the cooking of all of my favourite meals. It starts with increased pressure on me to pack and to buy the remaining things that need to be bought before I leave. At various points throughout those two days I fight back tears multiple times. I feel guilty about leaving for a place so far away and causing everyone sadness. If they see me cry, they will be sadder and more worried. 

I count this with the flight because it is harder than the multiple component and extraordinarily tiring flight itself. The more flights I take, the more used I get to hard goodbyes and accepting harsh truths. 

The actual flight is an incubator for paranoia. It involves sixteen hours half asleep in darkness, spotted by meals and a sleepy layover where I try my best not to fall asleep on a bench, riddled with caffeine-induced hallucinations. It is the perfect environment for all of life’s stresses to pop into your mind with a louder volume. Over the years I have started fearing flights. Over the years I have also learnt not to participate in any anxiety-inducing events in the days preceding a flight. 

My life has consisted of a total of seven flights to America. One through London, one through Reykjavik, one through Frankfurt, one through Moscow, one through Tokyo, two of them direct flights. Each of them has made me more used to saying goodbye, something I have a lot of trouble with and so put a lot of effort into. Sometimes I wonder if I say goodbye too much. It is nice to let the people I know that I really appreciate their existence, and saying goodbye is one way of doing that. It is also the most painful way of doing that.