"This is an announcement for British Airways Flight….” I have grown more familiar with the robotic voice on the airport intercom than my own in the past 13 hours. I just walked out of a bathroom where unfortunately I caught the sight of a mirror... “GOOD GOD, WHAT IS THAT THING? Oh wait, that’s me.” Eyes bloodshot red from days without sleep, makeup is a lost cause at this point, pockets of my overalls are spilling with boarding passes and documents to get past various forms of security (picture on left: actual photo of me in Heathrow Airport). And I continue to walk through the airport, half-awake, barely there, but I know what is going on. Like all the other sleep-deprived automatons that surround me now. Wakeless dreamers and Sleepless explorers, all on some pilgrimage in a world so familiar, yet so vastly different. The thing is, I’m only halfway to the Motherland. I am writing to you now from a coffee shop in London Heathrow Airport, where it is almost noon. However, its 4:38 am where I come from, and I spent 10 hours on a red eye flight with eyes wide open and not a hope of sleep crept into my anxious and apprehensive brain. I prayed, alongside my new friend next to me on the plane, I prayed for sleep to befall me. But it never did. And I couldn’t be happier. You see, I have waited my whole life for this trip. Even biologically, I don’t want to miss a second of this experience. While I lay to rest, the color green danced through images of pastures and hills and castles and pubs and the sweet smiles of a warm welcome. And instead of sleeping, I dreamt. I created my own world beneath the clouds outside the window, one I presumed I am walking into in 6 hours. I don’t presume that my world is exactly what Ireland is to be, in fact I kind of hope it isn’t. Where is the fun without surprise? Megstakes (Meghan Mistakes) So Far:
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AuthorOne day at a time. Archives
March 2017
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