I landed in the United States, in Minnesota, over a week ago. Through a silent airport, and with a quite exhausted body, I trudged to baggage claim. There I stood, waiting to receive my bags, texting my father and dreaming of my bed.
Standing outside the baggage claim doors, in the bitter Minnesota chill, I watched as my father's gun metal grey Mustang rounded the corner. A familiar sight, I felt incredible comfort. I was safe. I was home.
Entering Thailand and exiting Thailand meant taking two insanely long trips. Coming to Thailand, I was simply excited for the journey-- flying in a plane was something important; worth absorbing and enjoying. If I made it to Thailand, I would have conquered my childhood fear of flying. In the back of my mind, the entire way there, I thought, "This is how people die." What I mean by this is that I knew planes crashed, and people died. Leaving Thailand, I was struck with a different fear. "What if I never get home?" Somehow, this was more distressing than dying on my way there. This surprised me, because I was worried in the days before leaving for Thailand that something would prevent me from going. However, I got on the first plane, the second, the third and the fourth without a hitch. I wasn't concerned; it felt like a slow trek instead of an agonizing wait.
Coming back was an agonizing wait. The plane ride from Qatar to Dallas was longer, and the landing left my stomach in knots. The layover in Dallas was agonizingly long as I exhaustedly watched a few fortunate classmates board an earlier flight home. When it was finally my turn, our plane was delayed. We waited for what seemed like an hour, and then we boarded our plane. But, just like out of a T.V. informercial, "Wait, there's more!'' We were stuck, waiting for the plane to takeoff, and there was something wrong with an overhead compartment. We waited an hour for it to get taped and documented. By this point, my knees felt the familiar cramp of sitting in a tight space for too long. My seat-mates had to get up twice so I could use the bathroom. When the flight finally took off, we were still over 2 hours away from home. Out of all the plane rides that was the most agonizing.
I had a dream on the plane that we were stuck flying for hours, and like out of a Twilight Zone episode, we were cursed to wander the skies forever.
Watching my dad's car pull up to the curb, and seeing his familiar bearded face-- all of the anxiety and irritability vanished. All I wanted to talk about was Thailand. I wanted to stay up all night and show my mom pictures, and give my brother this stupid t-shirt with Hanson on it that said Nirvana.
People say flying is hell. I know now what that means.
I get asked, "What were the highs and the lows of Thailand." The only thing I want to say is "Thailand and flying."
Reading about my fears before this trip, I am glad that I see how much I have taken away from this trip. All of my anxieties were overcome, and I handled it far better than I thought I would. Anxiety is a huge problem for me as a person, and I am often paralyzed by it. But that was not who I was on this trip. The things that normally turn me inside out, left me feeling challenged and in the end--pretty liberated. I know flying was my biggest concern, and that has to be the funniest thing. Because, flying was the single most tedious and uneventful part of the trip.
