Half-Hearted

Twenty minutes before I board the plane bound for Dubai. I’ve been sitting here at a little coffee shop for a few hours now, my assigned gate just a metres away. Gate 28 is swarming with people from all walks of life–entire families with children or old folks, backpackers with bags almost as tall as them, couples linking arms or sharing drinks, businessmen who can’t seem to stop looking at their watches or pressing their gadgets. Every corner is buzzing with conversations. A flurry of movements everywhere.

I did not make this decision lightly. Neither soul-searching nor vacation, this trip is for my peace of mind. Like raising your glass to solitude. Or an ode to a brighter future.

I look pensive and uninterested while I sip the most bitter coffee I’ve tasted in a while. Five dollars to ingest shoe polish. I shake my head in disappointment. Not a novice traveller by any means, but no matter how many flights I book each year, I still can’t get over airport prices–highway robbery at its finest.

I’ve never been to Europe. This is my first foray into the land of myths and legends. A continent where colonial empires once thrived. Born without priveleges and an erstwhile corporate slave, it has taken me this long to travel outside of Asia. My bank account will definitely suffer, but at least my heart is full. I planned this journey some time ago, knowing all too well what I’ve gotten myself into.

No regrets… no looking back.

While swimming in my own thoughts, a no-nonsense female voice makes an announcement through the airline speakers at Gate 28: “Calling all passengers for Flight B888 FJ448, bound for Dubai International Airport. We are now ready to board. Please prepare your boarding pass.”

I jolt from my seat, almost spilling my bitter coffee.