Like a Virgin

I hadn’t flown in a while.

I used to feel so much anxiety about flying–not so much about the flight itself but everything else: the getting to a place and rushing to be on time to the airport, worrying about a missed flight, the tension of parting, the dread of returning back to college and another semester ahead–those were the things that gave me anxiety.

It brings back memories of late lunches with my family, often the good Southern California Mexican food (real chile rellenos!) at some restaurant on the way to Ontario airport. Then there was the return trip to campus from Oakland airport, boarding the connector bus to the train, and all the while the loneliness slowly dripped in just as the students slowly trickled back to town. I would lose my thoughts in wondering who the next roommate would be and when I would finally be able to see the familiar face of one of my few very close friends.

As I arrived at SFO for my next journey, the strangeness of it made me feel as if I had been airdropped into a foreign country: my confidence dropped to the level of a lost child. I felt unsure in my actions, questioning the logic of it all, feeling I had stumbled into a mad tea party. I was lost among the sea of connections around me, struggling as some poor insect that has become entangled in a spider’s web.

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