Two months ago, today, I found myself on a 15 hour plane ride to the great Big Apple. Those hours were intensely long and I barely had enough sleep. I couldn't sit through an entire show or movie we were able to watch on the plane. It was exhausting and uncomfortable and eventually even I put my concern aside and stood up and walked around the plane.
So after fifteen hours, when I not just saw the airplane icon blinking over America on the small screen in front of me, but peered through the window and saw green land and when the plane leaned down so close to the homes of others that we could see their backyards - it was emotional. Just that journey alone felt like an achievement. Everyone on that plane survived the fifteen hours. We made it. We'd done it.
As we exited the plane and made our way through the passages of JFK airport, there were signs and posters - telling us this was real - we were in NEW YORK.
And it hit me, I had left my home, my family, my country...
I stood in a long line at customs, surrounded by a diversity of people from all nations and languages, all excited and tired and ready to just get pass this point in the procedure. I was distracted by the artwork - giant canvases adorning the high walls of the airport. It was one of the female guards who spoke, allowing us to expierence the famous New York accent.
Once through and on the other side, a glass wall gifted us our first brilliant view. Bright sunshine and yellow cabs lined the sidewalk - taxi's that looked nothing like the ones we see in the movies and when I stepped outside the air was so clean and trees were summer green. It was surreal, I almost didn't believe I was standing there on foreign land. Like the last 24 hours didn't happen, but it did, and the journey was only the beginning.
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