Blogging
From Abroad

Pittsburgh International Airport

Like a stubborn old neighbor who refuses to turn down the TV, i stood before the security checkpoint at the airport; hunched over from my over-sized carry-ons, legs refusing to move.

In a moment of desperation, i attempted to find an excuse. Too much snow… forgot something at home… diarrhea?! Even as i was saying them, i knew that my attempts at prolonging the inevitable were absurd and I quickly ran out of reasons to cancel.

Suddenly, the weight of the $1,000 plane ticket which was tucked securely into my jacket pocket grew heavier. And I quickly recalled that both of my suitcases, which had been packed with as many clothes as humanly possible, were already on their way to the plane.

I was going to leave.

period.

When the denial ended, the tears began to flow. And of course, whenever you_need_ a tissue, napkin, or soft and flexible surface, its never there! Soon, my cold feet turned into a cold sweat. My stomach clenched. My lungs felt like they were filled with water.

Someone important once said that saying goodbye is the hardest part. Whoever they were, they were right. Having to say goodbye to the people and places you love for the sake of an abstract, distant aspiration is inevitable at some point in life, but truly difficult to say the least. As the time to board the plane grew closer, i couldn’t stall any longer.

With all of my courage, I took a step forward. And then another. And another. And then amazingly there i was, staring at an incredibly stoic, robot of a woman who firmly demanded my shoes, jewelry and electronics.

With a final, tearful, wave i said goodbye to the America I love and walked forward down the corridor towards the unexpected.

Philadelphia International Airport: 3 Hours Later

After assuming i had found my gate, i stopped at a near by restaurant. Rock and roll themed and inherently tacky, the restaurant (which the name i cant recall) served stereotypical “american food”; food that i usually didn’t eat but soon would be devoid of.

Elvis’ “hound dog” played in the background and i fidgeted with my plane ticket.

And then suddenly it dawned on me. The gate which i had perceived to be correct, still empty and unadorned, was the wrong one and even worse, my actual plane was leaving in 20 minutes. The food came quickly and i got it to go.

Within seconds i was running down the hallways of the airport, backpack bouncing against the small of my back and my beloved cheeseburger in hand.

Gates passed. People stared. Finally a screen with the same flight number but different destination came up on my right. After three panicked sentences of the same question i discovered that yes, it was, in fact, the right gate. I ran on board.

Somehow, I managed to squeeze my bags into an overhead compartment and then sat back down next to my cheeseburger, consciously hidden beneath a complimentary blanket wrapped in plastic.

As the plane slowly ascended into the air and wobbled upward, i crouched beneath the chair in front of me. And like a fearful kiss goodbye, i took a bite into my last American hamburger.