I opened my eyes, the suddenness of the captain's announcement made my heart jump from the slumber I'd fallen into as soon as I boarded the plane. Tired, exhausted even, as I made my third, or is it fourth, trip to Toronto in as many weeks. Fatigued from staying up till three in the morning preparing for my lecture in the morning. Normally, after the three hour lecture, I would be so drained I would go home to nap (or even just sleep...) . But I had a project I wanted to finish, a book totalling 770 pages...
Before rushing to the airport just in time for the luggage check in cut off time, I frantically packed my usual two suitcases. I filled it with DVDs, books, whatever else was lying on the bookshelf in the spare bedroom under a layer of dust. Some DVDs have never been opened. Some books have never been fully read from cover to cover. Some momentoes bought, or stored, and never touched again. Why? Perhaps I was busy. Or perhaps I was afraid to see and flip back at the pages of days past.
One, or at least one, of the books was a photobook. A collection of ticket stubs, brochures, photographs and whatnot from trips over the past few years. Just a few years ago, when mum was still around, when journeying around the world had a goal, had a purpose, had meaning....
The plane slowed and made a gradual descent. The skies were clear, or at least clearer than before I fell asleep. Looking out, the headlight installed on the wing cast an intense beam of light into the dark of the night. Rain, or at least what I thought was rain, fell sideways and were captured by the beam of light. The rain, which turned out to be sleet or flurries, got sucked into the rotating blades of the Q400 aircraft as we slowly, slowly and carefully approached Toronto.
The lights and sight of the city never ceases to be dull and again filled with with such excitement and anticipation. A friend greeted me at the airport and helped me with the two suitcases I lugged from Montreal.
Later at night, I hauled a suitcase back to my new condo alone. It was flurrying slightly. A cold, yet romantic air hang in the air. Romantic in the sense it provoked emotions, thoughts and nostalgia... I felt a sense of gratitude. After so long, I have a home, finally have a home I can call my own. After all the struggles, after all the memories, some captured in the photobook in the suitcase that groaned as the wheels slid over the pavement, after some of the painful and most difficult and challenging moments of my life (as yet, or perhaps ever...) I have a home to go to.
I opened the door and stepped into the warmth of the new condo. The smell of the newly placed laminate floor lingered still in the air. I saw a trail of footprints on the lightly dusted floor. It is a work still in progress.
But I am almost there. My home, a place to call my own.
Before rushing to the airport just in time for the luggage check in cut off time, I frantically packed my usual two suitcases. I filled it with DVDs, books, whatever else was lying on the bookshelf in the spare bedroom under a layer of dust. Some DVDs have never been opened. Some books have never been fully read from cover to cover. Some momentoes bought, or stored, and never touched again. Why? Perhaps I was busy. Or perhaps I was afraid to see and flip back at the pages of days past.
One, or at least one, of the books was a photobook. A collection of ticket stubs, brochures, photographs and whatnot from trips over the past few years. Just a few years ago, when mum was still around, when journeying around the world had a goal, had a purpose, had meaning....
Loving can heal
Loving can mend your soul
And it's the only thing that I know (know)
I swear it will get easier
Remember that with every piece of ya
And it's the only thing we take with us when we die
We keep this love in this photograph
We made these memories for ourselves
Where our eyes are never closing
Our hearts were never broken
Times forever frozen still
The plane slowed and made a gradual descent. The skies were clear, or at least clearer than before I fell asleep. Looking out, the headlight installed on the wing cast an intense beam of light into the dark of the night. Rain, or at least what I thought was rain, fell sideways and were captured by the beam of light. The rain, which turned out to be sleet or flurries, got sucked into the rotating blades of the Q400 aircraft as we slowly, slowly and carefully approached Toronto.
The lights and sight of the city never ceases to be dull and again filled with with such excitement and anticipation. A friend greeted me at the airport and helped me with the two suitcases I lugged from Montreal.
Later at night, I hauled a suitcase back to my new condo alone. It was flurrying slightly. A cold, yet romantic air hang in the air. Romantic in the sense it provoked emotions, thoughts and nostalgia... I felt a sense of gratitude. After so long, I have a home, finally have a home I can call my own. After all the struggles, after all the memories, some captured in the photobook in the suitcase that groaned as the wheels slid over the pavement, after some of the painful and most difficult and challenging moments of my life (as yet, or perhaps ever...) I have a home to go to.
I opened the door and stepped into the warmth of the new condo. The smell of the newly placed laminate floor lingered still in the air. I saw a trail of footprints on the lightly dusted floor. It is a work still in progress.
But I am almost there. My home, a place to call my own.
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