Blog 34 - Time Traveling Yet Again
Frantically written in the Houston airport just before boarding a flight on a flight from OKC to Houston, back to Yale 🇺🇸
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Blog 34 - Time Traveling Yet Again
Rêve solitaire,
Sur la plage, arrogance bikini…-Emma Hoet
"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter while staring at my phone.
Your flight has been delayed from 1:30am to 5:00am.
I shrug it off. "Well, here we go."
I go for a long walk from D48 to D1. Miami International Airport’s D terminal stretches 20 minutes without a passenger in sight. Every now and then I pass a golf cart with an employee high out of their mind. It's fascinating to see the closed stores and lack of lights in America's gateway terminal to Latin America. Every gate or two I see someone in the same predicament, stuck in the Miami airport overnight for what was supposed to be a 9pm flight home to Oklahoma. Some are sleeping in their jackets (it's 60 degrees), others look like zombies scrolling on TikTok.
Near D12, I see the first sign of life - a moving sidewalk. For the next 30 minutes, it's my playground. I go on it the right way, the wrong way, I jump on the metal bars on the side.
I enjoy most walking the wrong way, fighting against the moving platform. I feel good as I watch myself outpace the platform, moving forward.
I experiment with stopping. I watch myself be pulled back towards where I started. As I watch my progress deteriorate, I feel a sense of dread, a feeling of slow death. "Not my fate," I mutter as I move forward, more courageous than ever.
Finally I’m at Gate D1 - the finish line. I see a sleeping passenger who's resorted to moving together rows of chairs that face each other. Since you can't move the armrests, his body's in a zigzag position, carefully snug around one of the armrests. I think of a friend I met in Mexico who posts on her story whenever she's sleeping at the airport (it happens often with how cheap her flights are). She's leading a group trip in Bolivia right now. I bet she would approve of this.
I begin the long march back towards D48, my gate. I chuckle at the ridiculousness of my airport outfit - an Osprey on my back, an Osprey on my front, all while wearing a purple dress shirt and PacSun shorts.
Suddenly I see on top of a hand sanitizer dispenser a familiar luggage tag - it says Viajero Hostels - Cusco! The hostel chain I loved in Colombia. "La chance!", I think as my eyes widen. To see this obscure tag in the U.S. is quite a coincidence. I flip the tag over. It belongs to Brandon M.
I notice the peculiar placement of the tag, the emptiness of the airport, and figure Brandon had to have left it there intentionally. I put it in my wallet, vowing to return it to him if I ever meet him on the road.
So Brandon M. Stayed in Cusco, Peru just a day ago. My mind races to the possible adventures he had. Did he make friends? Hopefully his Spanish improved a lot. He had to have visited Machu Picchu, right? What does this guy look like? These questions keep me entertained for the rest of my walk back to the gate.
I finally reach a snug corner of Gate D47, right next to most of my fellow passengers. Nearly everyone's dead asleep. I don't have a pillow or a jacket, and just lay down on my backpack. Eyes closed.
Eyes open.
I'm woken up by a 10-foot wave that sends me flying. I'm not surfing, but being pounded by waves that my beginner self isn't prepared for. With each wave, I feel like a submerged cannonball zooming through the water, as if I've been shot from a submarine. Every time, I wonder if this is the wave where I get stung by a jellyfish or sliced by another surfboard. This period of submersion is the best part - every time I surface and catch my breath, I see every other surfer also surface and wipe their face, determined to keep going. We're in this together.
Soon I'm tired and I feel honored to have just experienced the last hour. I walk back to the sand and rest, laying on my surfboard. Eyes closed.
I see these mini visions of the future, of the next years. Reminders of the abundance that is to come.
To lean into them more, I cover my already closed eyes and bring into concept each detail of each vision. It's specific gazes, specific experiences. It's the fun adventures and happy smiles of those I care about. Most poignant of all, which I will never forget, are the colors. The colors…
I take a moment to absorb each vision, one by one. My brain conducts its usual surgical process to these sorts of things. Eyes closed.
Eyes open. I wake up, with that half smile I always do when I’m content. It’s never a full smile but half.
I feel my back laying on a surfboard twice my size. I hear the waves, conversations in Spanish and English in the distance, and seagulls. "Ah," I mumble. "I'm back at the beach in Costa Rica."
I sit up and take a look at myself. I'm soaked in my Uniqlo dress shirt that I've historically used for business meetings, but am using today for sun and rash protection. Nevertheless, my inner forearms are rashed a bright red from rubbing on the foam board.
I look at my hands and see a little ant crawling on my finger. I smell the familiarity of horses marching by, carrying tourists. To my right is a group of cousins playing football. To my left is a bachelorette party in white dresses, getting golden hour pics. I take it all in, knowing it's the last time I’m seeing the ocean for a while.
Growing up in Oklahoma I never got the chance to really enjoy the beach. Sure I saw it, maybe walked along the sand, but never had that unbridled free time to enjoy everything it had to offer. There’s a difference between visiting as a kid and not having control over your time versus going as an independent college student who's not in a rush. I still remember surfing in Puerto Escondido, Mexico, and being in awe at how everyone would let out this loose smile while floating, waiting for the next wave. I still remember Nicolla's crackled voice yelling, "Paddle!" every wave.
There's nothing like these towns. Tamarindo, Puerto Escondido, El Tunco. I repeat the names of these towns in my head, and look at the water. I couldn't be more content, and whisper one last command to myself.
“Let’s hit some waves.”
I grab my board and dash towards the water, without a worry in the world.