midwest bound

last night
after days without
horizontal sleep,
countless delays,
hours of tarmac waiting,
enough dashing through

airports
to quench any marathon runner...


i had finally made it.
to the very 
last leg of my 
return 
home journey.


breathless and sweat-full
my terminal sprinting
ended as i deflated
in front of the final
gate.
chicago to minneapolis.


the airline worker
looked over her glasses at me,
pitifully.


"you missed it" she said.


"but isn't that the plane?"
i ask.

{some ultimatums
must be questioned.}

"and besides, it's 7:58 and the
plane doesn't take off for
another 6 minutes."


the airline worker's eyes
locked with mine.


{the starring over the glasses
was beginning
to get old.}


she agreed to check
if the gate was open.


it was.


i'd made it.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
traveling.

such a gift.
the chance to leave what is
here.
and go.
just go.
to see and explore and wonder
and test and search and marvel.


there is nothing quite like it.
especially
when you know
precisely
what home is like.
what you've missed.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


sneaking onto the aircraft
not a moment too late,
i approached cautiously.


the plane was
of course
full of eager travelers,
who had been on time.
who were waiting.
ready to get on with their journeys.



the situation had potential to be
intimidating.



the stares.
the glares.
because after all.
being THE ONE.
THE ONE
the late one.
the holding-up-the-plane one.
the your-tardiness-is-foiling-my-connection one.
never a good
position.


but.
intimidating and scornful
looks did not greet me.
only smiles,
nods of approval,
and congratulatory
last minute plane-catching
compliments
were doled my way
as i,
still short of breath,
found my way down the aisle.


and when seat 26A was
doubled booked
and i had no where to sit,
3 rows in all directions
of concerned travelers 
found another seat for me.
all before
a flight attendent even 
knew there was an issue.


the midwest
truly welcomed me home.


and while
even though it felt
like my time traveling was
too short
and it was hard to leave.
to say goodbye.


it's good to be back.


as for last night.
dear United 959 plane-mates,
thanks for the 
warm welcome.
home.




- n.


ps 
stay tuned for 
tales of the past weeks.
of meeting
christmas-ing
traveling
new years-ing
tappas-ing
and sunning.
with sister & parents
and a bunch of Oxford MBAs.

happy christmas: i am home.

i'll be home for Christmas,

you can count on me.

i'll be home for Christmas...

... if only in my dreams.

last year

i sang this song 

with a bit of 

a catch in my throat.

{a lump really}.

because i was no where

near home.

quite far far away actually.

and sometimes

that something in my throat

was just too much 

to swallow.

it would brim over,

seeping out

the sides of my eyes.

even when

i never asked it to.

because i missed...

the blustery snow.

the trimmed tree.

the cozy house.

the driveway shoveling.

the cooking making.

the caroling at the market.

the Eve service tradition.

the family gatherings.

the faces.

i missed home.

and yet, here i am now

an entire year later.

still in a place

quite different from my home

marking the day of Christmas. 

and it was this very afternoon

that i sat

amongst my sister, mom and dad,

when this song...

...that song.

carried itself through the 

speakers and filled our

Christmas-space.

i'll be home for Christmas,

you can count on me... 

i noticed.

there was no catch

this time.

because i realized.

that wherever i am.

south or north or east

it doesn't much

matter.

because in fact

it is not the place

that tells me.

no.

it's those 3 people.

mom & dad & sister.

they are the ones that tell me.

my body rests,

and my mind can take a sigh.

and i just know

that wherever i am

with these people.

yes indeed.

i am home.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

wishing you well

wherever you find yourself

this Christmas,

- n.

alice's wonderland.

have you ever read,

alice in wonderland?

perhaps you saw the movie

as a child.

maybe it intrigued 

frightened & fascinated

you

all at the same time.

it did me.

but the book...

let's just say...

reading is so much

different that seeing

anyway this quote

found me

today.

the conversation between

alice and the caterpillar:

"Who are you?" 

said the Caterpillar.

This was not 

an encouraging opening 

for a conversation.

Alice replied, 

rather shyly,

"I--I hardly know, Sir,

just at present--at least 

I know who I was when I got

up this morning,

but I think I must

have been changed

several times since then."

"What do you mean by that?"

 said the Caterpillar, sternly. 

"Explain yourself!"

"I can't explain 

myself,

I'm afraid, Sir," 

said Alice,

"because I'm not myself, you see."

and. 

i agree with alice.

sometimes so many changes

can make me feel 

quite confused.

but i like her journey.

she is a brave girl.

until next time,

-n.

photos found from here & here.

letters and the post office.

it's faster to type.

you'll get it momentarily, 

if not instantly.

i can

:::skype you.

IM you.

email you.

facebook you.

facebook chat you.

gchat you.

tweet you.:::

did i miss any?

in a world of utter connection 

:::exchange of pictures.exclamations.words.memories.news::: 

staying in the loop 

with the happenings of, 

well just about anyone, 

is a breeze.

:::the president of Yemen.my sister living in India.my girlfriend country hopping from Egypt to Saudi with her family.my little cousin's latest soccer game.and my friend's hot date last friday:::

but there is something to be said

about receiving [and sending] mail 

that cannot be matched.

i'm talking about mail, 

the kind embraced in an envelop. 

the kind you lick to close...

[hoping you don't cut your tongue]. 

the kind where you have to look up 

the other's postal address.

 the kind dropped into the little 

red [or blue] box on the corner.

 the kind that is still 

a complete mystery of how it goes 

from that little red[or blue] 

box on the corner, 

over highways and under bridges, 

to airports and over 

rivers and oceans, 

trucks to little vehicles, 

to the small satchel the man 

with blue pants 

[who sincerely hopes the receiver owns

no canine to speak of] 

to...you.

the kind when the little PO Box lid 

is lifted in mindless routine. 

the kind that catches something 

in the gut, 

something like small sparks 

igniting from the eyes to the

 stomach and back again 

when that little-traveled-envelop 

catches your attention

in the mail slot

and you know that little message.

is intended 

for you.

so here i am.

living in the land of stationary stores 

literally around every curve and bend. 

and with unbelievable graphics 

and English-tag lines like this...

HAPPY DAY! ! !

when your feeling down, take a bath. you'll look better and feel cleaner too.

how can you you not stock up, 

buying stationary for 

everyone you know?

[INSERT PICTURE HERE].

Korean post offices

think of everything.

i mean really.

there's the packaging and addressing station 

complete with four different 

kinds of tape, 

various markers with which 

to address your mail, 

spectacles 

[in case you forgot your glasses at home], 

a choice of 20 different sizes 

of boxes and envelops.

i waited in the international line,

with all the ladies.

assumedly mothers. 

clutching their varying sized parcels

 of gimchi, 

the Korean national food.

a few letters and 

small birthday package

in hand.

packed and ready to go.

i gave them one last look

and a wish for safe traveling.

i tried to imagine the moment when 

my friends,

my grandmother,

my cousin,

would pull the lid to that mailbox.

i wondered if the butterflies, 

the catch in the throat

would come.

until next post office visit.

watch your postbox!