Right now, I'm sitting on the floor, in front of my check-in desk in the International Terminal of the Chicago O'Hara Airport, exchanging an awkward, yet slightly confrontational stare with the woman behind the desk. It reminds of the game chicken - who will give in first.
You see, I've been in this spot since 3:30pm, Chicago-time. Imagine my surprise walking up to the Royal Jordanian desk, to find it emptier than the Oakland A's stadium any time the Yankees aren't in town - meaning it was completely empty. No lines were set up, and I could've sworn that the rest of the airport personnel looked like they were subconsciously avoiding this little section of the airport. I saw a small sign on the counter, and as I walked toward it, all I could think was, "The ONE time I get complete charge over my own travel arrangements, and I picked an airline going out of business. -___-" Of course, the airline's not really out of business - instead, they find it unnecessary to work outside of the hours of 6pm - 10pm, or at least that's what I got of the sign they left saying, "Check-in only between 18:00 - 22:00" (Yea, they used military time, fancy, huh?)
So, naturally, I sat down, in the front, and decided I would be the first one to have the privilege of being served by quite possibly the laziest airline in the world. Less than an hour later, three women who work for Royal Jordanian came out and set up the lines, turned on the computers, and had that "I love my job" look on their faces. So, assuming that I caught a lucky break, I stood up and went up to the desk, ready to check myself in and be on my merry way.
I don't know what possessed me to think I got that lucky. The lady at the desk looked at me, pointed at the sign, as if she couldn't speak English, and shook her head, no.
Annoyed, I walked back to my little self-constructed living room in the front of the line, and sat down. When I looked up, the woman was still there, and she has not moved since - and neither will I.
Since then, I've talked to a few people on the phone, sent out a few texts, gone on facebook, you know, the usual.
But my mind hasn't stayed focused on any of that, or the woman at the desk - yup she's still there, as useless as ever - for very long. Instead, every thought I've had in the past few weeks, more frequently in the last few days, has run through my mind.
The one most persistent being, "This.is.it."
Getting myself here was the struggle of all struggles. On the phone with the parentals 24/7, checking my email like a madwoman every two seconds, emailing every person and his mother that live in Jordan, the frustration, the anger, the fear, the craziest emotional rollercoaster that has ever been associated with something that was supposed to be an academic venture, when boiled down to it.
I fought for it, I did. I yelled and I kicked and I ripped at everything I could get my hands on, until I got what I wanted, much like a four-year-old in Toys-r-Us when the newest gameboy, DSI, PSP, DSL, FYI, WXYZ.. whatever the hell they call those things now, comes out.
And I got it, just like that four year old does, every time.
But I can't lie, I had those small, tempting moments when everything seemed to fall through when a glimmer of another option reared its head, and I came oh so very sinfully close to grabbing it.
I still wonder what would've happened if I had just chosen to stay in the US. More specifically, on the east coast, more specifically in Pennsylvania, and more specifically, with people, and mainly someone, that I fear losing the most now that I'm sitting in this airport, playing Chicken: The Stare-down Edition with some random lady who hates her job, and probably me, too.
I wonder if I should've stayed, just for one more term, before I began travelling, wandering, and essentially isolating myself in many ways.
A week before I left Drexel, I had lunch with a girl who had traveled to Jordan for a year her Sophomore year in college.
Of everything we talked about, one statement resonated hard and permanently with me - not because it was new and insightful, but because it was a fact I have refused to accept since moving out of California: that life goes on.
That people will live their lives, whether or not you are in it, and no matter how good of friends you are, no matter how strong the relationship, it is a simple fact of life - that everyone lives it.
And this is the idea that has kept me up for the past few nights, that has instilled so many doubts in myself about all of this, that has me typing self-involved ramble in an airport while I sit on the ground and play Eye War with some lady.
College was easy, or so I thought it would be.
Leave, come back to Fremont every 3-4 months, and leave again.
At least, that was the plan.
But then I saw all my friends begin college together, and I never felt more alone in my life. I listened to their stories, and I listened to their arguments, their drunken fights, their nighttime adventures, and I wanted nothing more than to be back where I always said I would leave, and stay with them, and be part of the next step of their lives. Of course, as any college student has to and does, I dealt with it, and it doesn't bother me anymore.
I've gone back to California, and each time I go back, I realize that despite the distance, despite the lack of constant contact, I reconnect with people who I am incredibly thankful to know, let alone have in my life, no matter the circumstances.
And yet, now I find myself in the same situation as in the beginning, but intensified.
Leaving the country, having no regular access to a cellphone, having a 7-10 hour time difference - that's different, that's bigger.
Especially after going back home, realizing how much I love the people there, and how much I miss the people I left in Philly, I've begun to get that dreadful feeling of regret and fear of loss, fear of being forgotten, fear of giving up what was already good in search of what I mistakenly thought would be better.
As I sit here and think, reflect, predict, I've been overtaken by an incredibly overwhelming sense of loneliness. On one hand, I could be having a meltdown, on the other, I could be preparing myself, I'm not really sure which it is, but either way, it's a strange feeling, nonetheless.
I'm thinking of promises. Promises to keep in touch, promises to meet up again, promises, promises, promises - both on my end and not.
It's funny, how something so fragile as a few words exchanged, a few puffs of air filled with intangible "units of meaning", a few whispers that disappear in the wind, can bring us incredible comfort when parting ways.
I promise, do you?
He promised, she promised.
Well, the matter of fact is everyone, at least once, in his or her life, made a promise, and I can guarantee that each and every one of us, has broken a promise at least once, intentional or not.
Yes, I can be so cynical as to sit here and bash on every promise ever made, on the fragility and utter lack of a binding force it is, but for once, I'm going to avoid the cynicism and take... well the road more often taken.
These promises will carry me as far as I need them to, they will be my crutch until I get my feet on the ground, whether that be the first moment I hit Jordanian soil, or the day I leave Egypt.
Somewhere, optimism is replaced with pure faith and hope, and that is what I will have, faith and hope in promises, in others, in myself.
I have wondered the last few weeks if I'm taking the first steps towards everything I've ever dreamed of for my future, or if I've successfully over-estimated my own abilities and potential.
I've wondered if I will be the kid who took it all the way, or the one that had all the opportunities and all the chances, but ended up being just another silly kid with silly dreams.
Am I going to be able to speak Arabic at a higher level than that of an autistic four-year-old by the end of the summer?
Am I going to get a job in Egypt?
Will my research go well?
Can I keep up with my Japanese while I'm out there?
Can I make it that long without offending anyone? (Semi-serious question)
Will I be able to come to terms with regrets that still haunt me?
Is this blog going to have more than one post? (A very serious question, based on past blogging performance :P )
All good questions, all with no definite answers.
But in the end, all I can do is hope and have faith, and add in a little bit of that awkward spice that seems to flavor my life every now and then - and just like when I cook: I cross my fingers, open the oven, and hope that my face isn't eaten alive by a giant fire. So far, so good, guys.
And just as I come to a close, a little bit of luck and a possible sign of good fortune rears its head:
Check-in-counter lady has opened check-in.
I'm still sitting in this same spot, ready to go.
Boo-ya.
Game. Set. Match.
Get ready Jordan, here I come.
You see, I've been in this spot since 3:30pm, Chicago-time. Imagine my surprise walking up to the Royal Jordanian desk, to find it emptier than the Oakland A's stadium any time the Yankees aren't in town - meaning it was completely empty. No lines were set up, and I could've sworn that the rest of the airport personnel looked like they were subconsciously avoiding this little section of the airport. I saw a small sign on the counter, and as I walked toward it, all I could think was, "The ONE time I get complete charge over my own travel arrangements, and I picked an airline going out of business. -___-" Of course, the airline's not really out of business - instead, they find it unnecessary to work outside of the hours of 6pm - 10pm, or at least that's what I got of the sign they left saying, "Check-in only between 18:00 - 22:00" (Yea, they used military time, fancy, huh?)
So, naturally, I sat down, in the front, and decided I would be the first one to have the privilege of being served by quite possibly the laziest airline in the world. Less than an hour later, three women who work for Royal Jordanian came out and set up the lines, turned on the computers, and had that "I love my job" look on their faces. So, assuming that I caught a lucky break, I stood up and went up to the desk, ready to check myself in and be on my merry way.
I don't know what possessed me to think I got that lucky. The lady at the desk looked at me, pointed at the sign, as if she couldn't speak English, and shook her head, no.
Annoyed, I walked back to my little self-constructed living room in the front of the line, and sat down. When I looked up, the woman was still there, and she has not moved since - and neither will I.
Since then, I've talked to a few people on the phone, sent out a few texts, gone on facebook, you know, the usual.
But my mind hasn't stayed focused on any of that, or the woman at the desk - yup she's still there, as useless as ever - for very long. Instead, every thought I've had in the past few weeks, more frequently in the last few days, has run through my mind.
The one most persistent being, "This.is.it."
Getting myself here was the struggle of all struggles. On the phone with the parentals 24/7, checking my email like a madwoman every two seconds, emailing every person and his mother that live in Jordan, the frustration, the anger, the fear, the craziest emotional rollercoaster that has ever been associated with something that was supposed to be an academic venture, when boiled down to it.
I fought for it, I did. I yelled and I kicked and I ripped at everything I could get my hands on, until I got what I wanted, much like a four-year-old in Toys-r-Us when the newest gameboy, DSI, PSP, DSL, FYI, WXYZ.. whatever the hell they call those things now, comes out.
And I got it, just like that four year old does, every time.
But I can't lie, I had those small, tempting moments when everything seemed to fall through when a glimmer of another option reared its head, and I came oh so very sinfully close to grabbing it.
I still wonder what would've happened if I had just chosen to stay in the US. More specifically, on the east coast, more specifically in Pennsylvania, and more specifically, with people, and mainly someone, that I fear losing the most now that I'm sitting in this airport, playing Chicken: The Stare-down Edition with some random lady who hates her job, and probably me, too.
I wonder if I should've stayed, just for one more term, before I began travelling, wandering, and essentially isolating myself in many ways.
A week before I left Drexel, I had lunch with a girl who had traveled to Jordan for a year her Sophomore year in college.
Of everything we talked about, one statement resonated hard and permanently with me - not because it was new and insightful, but because it was a fact I have refused to accept since moving out of California: that life goes on.
That people will live their lives, whether or not you are in it, and no matter how good of friends you are, no matter how strong the relationship, it is a simple fact of life - that everyone lives it.
And this is the idea that has kept me up for the past few nights, that has instilled so many doubts in myself about all of this, that has me typing self-involved ramble in an airport while I sit on the ground and play Eye War with some lady.
College was easy, or so I thought it would be.
Leave, come back to Fremont every 3-4 months, and leave again.
At least, that was the plan.
But then I saw all my friends begin college together, and I never felt more alone in my life. I listened to their stories, and I listened to their arguments, their drunken fights, their nighttime adventures, and I wanted nothing more than to be back where I always said I would leave, and stay with them, and be part of the next step of their lives. Of course, as any college student has to and does, I dealt with it, and it doesn't bother me anymore.
I've gone back to California, and each time I go back, I realize that despite the distance, despite the lack of constant contact, I reconnect with people who I am incredibly thankful to know, let alone have in my life, no matter the circumstances.
And yet, now I find myself in the same situation as in the beginning, but intensified.
Leaving the country, having no regular access to a cellphone, having a 7-10 hour time difference - that's different, that's bigger.
Especially after going back home, realizing how much I love the people there, and how much I miss the people I left in Philly, I've begun to get that dreadful feeling of regret and fear of loss, fear of being forgotten, fear of giving up what was already good in search of what I mistakenly thought would be better.
As I sit here and think, reflect, predict, I've been overtaken by an incredibly overwhelming sense of loneliness. On one hand, I could be having a meltdown, on the other, I could be preparing myself, I'm not really sure which it is, but either way, it's a strange feeling, nonetheless.
I'm thinking of promises. Promises to keep in touch, promises to meet up again, promises, promises, promises - both on my end and not.
It's funny, how something so fragile as a few words exchanged, a few puffs of air filled with intangible "units of meaning", a few whispers that disappear in the wind, can bring us incredible comfort when parting ways.
I promise, do you?
He promised, she promised.
Well, the matter of fact is everyone, at least once, in his or her life, made a promise, and I can guarantee that each and every one of us, has broken a promise at least once, intentional or not.
Yes, I can be so cynical as to sit here and bash on every promise ever made, on the fragility and utter lack of a binding force it is, but for once, I'm going to avoid the cynicism and take... well the road more often taken.
These promises will carry me as far as I need them to, they will be my crutch until I get my feet on the ground, whether that be the first moment I hit Jordanian soil, or the day I leave Egypt.
Somewhere, optimism is replaced with pure faith and hope, and that is what I will have, faith and hope in promises, in others, in myself.
I have wondered the last few weeks if I'm taking the first steps towards everything I've ever dreamed of for my future, or if I've successfully over-estimated my own abilities and potential.
I've wondered if I will be the kid who took it all the way, or the one that had all the opportunities and all the chances, but ended up being just another silly kid with silly dreams.
Am I going to be able to speak Arabic at a higher level than that of an autistic four-year-old by the end of the summer?
Am I going to get a job in Egypt?
Will my research go well?
Can I keep up with my Japanese while I'm out there?
Can I make it that long without offending anyone? (Semi-serious question)
Will I be able to come to terms with regrets that still haunt me?
Is this blog going to have more than one post? (A very serious question, based on past blogging performance :P )
All good questions, all with no definite answers.
But in the end, all I can do is hope and have faith, and add in a little bit of that awkward spice that seems to flavor my life every now and then - and just like when I cook: I cross my fingers, open the oven, and hope that my face isn't eaten alive by a giant fire. So far, so good, guys.
And just as I come to a close, a little bit of luck and a possible sign of good fortune rears its head:
Check-in-counter lady has opened check-in.
I'm still sitting in this same spot, ready to go.
Boo-ya.
Game. Set. Match.
Get ready Jordan, here I come.
- Hours without sleep: 30 in counting
Sleep is for the weak
check it, we've got ourselves a novelist here.
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