Leaving

It was tough.
Soon as my sister's revo entered the departure lane at the airport, I felt heaviness in the air. For the nth time, I fought off the urge to cry, to cling, to turn back. I wanted to be back at my apartment. I wanted to go home with my parents. I wanted to be surrounded with everything familiar. I was terrified. I thought, what have I done? what was I thinking?
We said our goodbyes and I still managed not to cry. But when I saw our plane, it unnerved me. I realized that it'd be months, if not years, before I see my family again. And my heart felt like it was bursting, and I couldn't breathe. We boarded and I tried to recover for my son's sake. When we reached our final destination, I was already drained. The interview at customs went smoothly, thank God. But the bags were torture. I couldn't lift them from the carousel. And it was difficult keeping an eye on my son and the rest of our valuables while hauling the luggages and maneuvering the quirky cart. But soon it was over. Nobody met us outside and it was a bit disheartening because I was still disoriented from the long flight, and my emotions were a bit raw from all the crying I did on the plane.
But we managed. We've landed.
We stepped out and it was chilly outside.
I thought, a step at a time, a step at a time.
Breathe.