And this is how it happens every time. I
look on the right, watch the earth below me disappear into the horizon and when
there is nothing left to see except the clouds that look like giant cotton
candies, I lean back, close my eyes and try to catch up on my sleep.
Departures always mean a step away from
home or to home, depending on where I am.
When I no longer see the place I’ve just
been to and the glittering city lights disappear, I know I will soon be home.
That moment when the plane’s wheels touch the runway, I know it’s only a
matter of hours before I am back in my bed.
But being in a different place makes me think
of home more vividly. Oh how I miss the smell of our tiny apartment; the
flowers in the balcony, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting in the air
in the morning, the clean sheets in my bedroom and the love and laughter that burst in the seams.
I cannot even begin to count how many times
I’ve had to leave but wherever corner of the world I am, I carry with me
memories of home. Home is always with me, never far, never gone, never forgotten, not even for a
moment.
