It's been five years since I left the country.
Not that it's a big deal. We were all stuck here in one way or another over those five years. That said, I can no longer claim, even as a joke, to be a "well-traveled" person on the basis of flying to Hong Kong with some regularity for work.
But, well, here I am, writing these words on a notebook I haven't touched for three and a half years, seated inside a Starbucks, inside an airport terminal. That means everything is priced a bit more than usual, although I can always brush it off and say everything - almost everything - is paid for. A work expense.
I've been at the airport since half past eleven. Predictably, the queues are long, surprisingly more so at the security inspection than at immigration. And now, I'm in that Starbucks, killing some time before I have to check in at half past two. To my left are two men with their shoes - but not their socks - off, their feet up, their phones plugged n. To my right, three siblings, I assume: the youngest. a boy, is watching probably age-inappropriate anime clips. In front of me is a woman who oddly reminds me of Romy Madley-Croft - or is that a thought I only had now? - sitting in front of her laptop, unfinished yogurt bowl waiting for its turn.
And here I am, taking maintenance medicine.
You kind of fall back into old patterns, but clearly things aren't the same. I mean, take that five-year distance. The world was disrupted - is being disrupted, as if it never was the case - and we've had to change with it. The rules change, but you're supposed to just get on with it. Wait for your flight, board at the right time, do not bring in anything that's banned - and absolutely no bomb jokes.
But then, the kid to my right is watching Mr. Beast. I'm old and I can't truly wrap my head around that.
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