Home for The Holidays
Holidays and flights never mix well together. Yet, here I am.
Doing both.
It’s 4 a.m. and the line to get through security was a nightmare – even when I’m here five hours before my flight. (If you’re wondering why I go to flights five hours early… please ask my parents who forcibly ingrained “but you never know what’s going to happen” into me.)
It’s now 4:30 a.m. and so far, so good:
Bags checked ✅
Carry on made it through ✅
Starbucks secured ✅
Did not experience a “Home Alone” situation (miss my flight) ✅
Get a seat next to the gate ❌
I mean, four out of five’s not bad.
Now’s the only good part about getting to the airport early: not stressing.
And when I say “not stressing,” I just mean not stressing that your gate’s about to close and you need to get from Gate 1 to Gate 31 in .5 seconds with two oversized rolling suitcases.
Nah, at this point, your stress is probably now on the holiday itself.
Will Abby get along with Emilio? Will Emilio get along with Victor? Will the aunts grill me about my job again? Will the uncles question where my significant other is? (Answer: I have none).
But you know what? …. Let’s just stop thinking about that.
Instead, let’s focus on the crisp air in New York.
It’ll be the first time in a year that I’ll be back in below 60 degree weather and, honestly, I don’t know how I feel about it. Those crowded streets. The loud chatter blended with loud oncoming traffic. Beanies, balaclavas, and scarves flooding the somehow-narrow sidewalks. Tongues of different languages filling the air, making it look like smoke.
But then again… I’ll also see the colorful, bright lights that (almost always) blind me. The classic Christmas songs blasting past you in either cars or the bike carriages that only tourists ever get on. “All I want for Christmasssss, Is youuuuuu” will be on repeat a million times, but having it in the background while looking at festive-decorated restaurants, apartments, and random park gates does have some type of magic to it.
Whaddyaknow. I guess I do miss the east coast.
Ready to block out the world, I put on my black Beats and checked my phone battery which read: 32%.
For an almost six-hour flight? Ain’t no way. But as I reached over to plug in my phone, I noticed another hand. I paused, buffering what to do next. Then I hear:
“Oh, sorry, go ahead.” I looked up ready to question whoever was trying to use the outlet under my seat until… I actually looked up.
Huh, not bad, west coast.
“T-Thanks,” I smiled, awkwardly, but I wouldn’t admit that out loud.
If you want the full picture of what I saw: it was a guy who wore a rolled up mustard beanie, dark green crewneck over a white shirt that peeked under, and almost-similar-mustard pants. Before I could get to his sneakers, I was forced out of my analysis.
“Sorry, but could I plug in my phone until it’s at 5%...” he held up his phone, revealing the dreaded dead battery, “I just need to text my mom… otherwise she’ll freak,” he smirked.
“Momma’s boy, huh?”
“Proudly,” he laughed.
“Honestly, I feel that,” I unlocked my phone. “My mom would have my head on a stick if I didn’t text her back… which… you reminded me to do.” I paused, but I must’ve looked concerned because he asked:
“You good?”
“Oh yeah, my bad. I’m just texting my dry cleaner…” Maybe I should have lied to play hard to get? Well, too late now…
“Your dry cleaner?”
“Yeah,” I let out a short laugh, passing over the charger. “I mean, I’m just checking if this dress I sent in weeks ago will be ready when I land…,” I looked over, startled by the eye contact, “Anddd I don’t know why I keep telling you–”
“Nah,” he interjected, plugging his phone and then slouching more in his chair. “Honestly, kinda interesting. Y’know, people don’t appreciate dry cleaners and laundromats enough.”
“Thank you!!” I moved forward from my seat then had to remind myself to chill out– “It’s also because I’ve known the family who owns it since I was a kid. They’re kind of like family to me.”
Sh-t, why do I keep making deep conversations with this guy?? But before I could try to save myself–
“Speaking of family, is that who you’re heading to visit?”
“Curious much?” Yes, cool answer, cool answer.
“I mean, I’m not the one who just told their whole life story to a stranger…”
I hung my head in defeat, “Touche…”
He laughed, “Let me guess…” He looked up and down and I prayed he didn’t judge me for my birkens, which yes, I know, everyone has. “You gotta be from New York.”
“Damn… really? Of all the 50 states?”
“Well, your birkens gave it away–” dammit, I knew it “--but then you got the baggy beige sweats, cream hoodie, brown puffy vest and black headphones? Yeah, you gotta be from New York… Upper east side maybe?”
“Alright, this is getting creepy,” I laughed it off, but seriously… Am I that stereotypical? Damn, I guess I need to change my wardrobe…
“Nah, I like your style though,”Huh, Is he reading my mind? “I’m from New York too – Harlem.”
“I love Harlem, they got BOMB food.”
“You already know!” he laughed. “And my family goes all out for Christmas, so I’ma have bomb food times two when I’m back home.”
“Me too,” I slouched now in my chair. “I haven’t had homemade food in soooooo long. That’s literally all I’ll be thinking about for the almost-six hours.”
“Sh-t. I forgot this a six-hour flight,” he rubbed his beanie. “I’ma be thinking about all my aunts asking where my girlfriend’s at and my uncles trying to pass me out with all the shots they take,” he looked over at me, “Girlfriend is nonexistent though.”
“I didn’t ask,” I laughed, trying to give I-don’t-care vibes but I really meant Oh-Thank-God.
He smiled, “Just if you were wondering.”
Not giving him the satisfaction (damn I’m getting the hang of this “hard to get”), “I feel that though. My family is the exact same way. I was just thinking about all the chismis that will be talked about me once I enter the door.”
“Chisme?” he smiled, “I heard that… Man, we two sides of the same coin.”
“I guess so, huh.”
He shook his leg, “Hey, maybe I should start supporting more local businesses. What dry cleaner do you go to?”
Did I really just find myself in a Holiday Hallmark movie?
Maybe holidays and flights aren’t that bad after all.