We’re sitting in Changi Airport, Singapore right now, trying not to fall asleep. There is about an hour between us and our connecting flight home to Brisbane.
Japan was … Amazing. We experienced only two weeks worth of their culture and I felt so sad to be leaving.
The sheer magnitude of people in such a small country was honestly a bit much, but after a few days I got used to it and found myself adjusting. ‘My’ space wasn’t mine anymore, but that was OK. Add that to the fact that we spoke a total of about 7 words, but their ability to see past this and work with us was astounding.
In the last few days of our trip, I managed to put away the crankiness that I felt, in not being able to speak the language, and just walked into a bar with no English menu… It turned out better than I had anticipated.
Tonight I sit and write, with my husband dozing in his uncomfortable seat beside me. We’ve notice the distinct differences in all of people that pass us by. No longer is he looked at because he towers over everyone; and no longer am I looked at because of my hair, skin and eyes being different to what the people are used to. Now, we’re once more part of the collective that seems to reside, at least semi-permanently, in airports around the world.
We are the people sitting and waiting, until they can finally return home.