Portrait

At the airport this morning, dreading the long flight alone, and dreading leaving people; some of whom I am slowly getting accustomed to being apart from, and some of whom I have never really been apart from. Either way, being apart is so hard. I realised that more than ever in the last week, as loved ones descended down on Sri Lanka from all over the world for a too-brief holiday. It never gets easier, and if it does, that actually sucks, because that means you’re slowly forgetting how good it is to be together. And just as you’re forgetting, a.k.a getting used to being apart, suddenly you’re back together, and it hurts all over again.

In the BIA, Poya Day Buddhist sermons on TV were inescapable, and all the announcements were in Sinhalese and English only.

I flew over a desert for the first time in my life, swooping down on the Dubai airport, looking down on sand dunes, stretching for miles, as far as the eye could see.

I’m stuck in Dubai for another two hours, and then on another plane for another 6 hours.

I’m lonely already. I’m bored already.

I wish they would hurry up and discover teleporting already.