To the over-excited woman in fat pants and an ill fitting tee at Phnom Penh Airport
It's been three months and ten days since I've written anything here. It's been a trip to China, to Singapore, to home, and back again. There have been too many thoughts, and too many feelings, and for the first time, a fear that transparency would feel like weakness. It's not, just so you know, so prepare yourself for a typical amount of honesty on my behalf.
Home was great, and the worst, and the best, and the most beautiful. Here's what I'd say to myself right before I got on the plane.
To the over-excited woman in fat pants and an ill-fitting tee at Phnom Penh airport,
Firstly, full credit to you, you wore the right kind of plane clothes, because in approximately 12 hours, you'll be sick on them. Wet wipes are a good idea to travel with, you're lucky that the woman in front of you on your flight from KL to Gold Coast already packed them. You're quite savvy, but she's savvier (not to be confused with a saviour although somewhat similar given the circumstances).
It's going to feel great for the first 48 hours. You'll take a lot of pictures. You'll say things like "wow, carpet!" and "using a debit card is so cool." You'll make a silent vow to yourself that you'll only wear turtlenecks for the entire duration of your trip and that whenever possible, you'll have a duvet thrown over you. You'll break both promises to yourself within a matter of days.
You'll be in the honeymoon phase of homecoming and that's ok. Stay there for a while if you can. Soon, you'll have an insignificant argument that makes you cry. You might not be able to stop crying once you start. That's ok too, because your Mum is always willing to stay awake with you 'til the early hours.
You are about to ache for all you've seen and felt over the last six months. That's ok. Your body might bear some of the brunt of it too. That's ok.
You'll get to share the stories that have changed your life with so many people. You'll get that fiery feeling when you talk about the work that you do. You'll remember every day why you left this place and what you did it for. You'll see how far you've come.
You'll also get to angry-dance with your best friends to classic girl pop. You'll go to the beach in jeans with your soulmate gal pal. You'll eat all your favourite foods, including the two donuts waiting for you in arrivals (actual donuts, not just Annie and Sam being affectionately referred to as donuts). You'll go for walks in crisp morning air just like you've thought about for the last six months. Your dogs will behave, just as you had hoped, like you are a soldier coming home from war (because who hasn't got sucked into that youtube vortex before?). You'll have a couple of late night conversations that make you feel a whole lot less alone. All of these will involve cookies. You'll be with almost all of your favourite people for three weeks straight.
People are going to pray for you and encourage you and share in your struggle and celebrate in your successes. They're going to look you in the eye and share their hearts with you. They'll tell you they're proud of you, and they'll really mean it.
Two of your best friends are going to marry each other three weeks in and you're going to have a great day with the greatest people. You're going to get a wee bit weepy at the end when you realise you're getting back on the plane the next day in your ugly plane clothes. Also, the election doesn't go quite how you wanted it to.
Here's how it ends: you get on the plane. You go back. You'll sit in Gold Coast airport and feel like you can't get on the plane. You can, and you do. You are capable of more than you thought.
It's going to be great going home, and it's going to be hard coming back. And none of that means that you're in the wrong place, it just makes you really human. You've got some stuff to work out, but you've got good people to help you get there. It might not look how you thought it would, but that's ok. You're doing ok.
Love,
You-who-made-it-back-after-all
My people.