You know that moment. When the plate crashes on the floor. Tinkkktaakkkkchhh. I replay that moment as a stranger sitting over another table. Watching my “oops” moment. Watching me as I bury my head in an invisible pillow and look totally embarrassed and then regain my “It’s-alright, it happens” composure.
While this one recently happened while I was sipping some icey drink at our college coffee shop, I guess my life to be a series of such I-broke-the-plate moments. I am so grateful to all those people who look over from their tables, judge me and get back to their coffee like nothing happened. More grateful for those who sit with me and laugh while the waiter sweeps away the shattered pieces and I am figuring out, “How the hell did I manage to do that?”
Also, how the hell do I manage to never meet the airline baggage weight limits? I have so much stuff. I read this book where all the things we lose gather up in this place called, here. You know, books, socks, keys, memories everything you ever lost, is there. I wonder how many versions of me that I have lost of myself, I will find there. And how many of those I would be glad to find again?
Though glad, is how I feel (sometimes) while I am surviving a layover on an airport. After holy places like temples and churches, I think airports and railway stations have encapsulated most of human emotions over time. So many hellos they say, so many goodbyes. So much of their relief while they land near home, so much anxiety if they are leaving it. So many prayers while they get to their ailing family member, so many hopes while they travel for a new job? If you sit around, and just observe all the stories churning with every flight that lands and takes off, you will not regret your tv series coming to an end.
Until next week. Do not panic if you find out the cafe charges if you break the plates, or your flight refuses to take off.