Digging the weeds /oneshot /english |
Here I was, once again, in the lounge waiting for my flight to arrive with a cup of latte in my hand. This trip was the third trip abroad this year, and it’s only March. I picked up my phone. Ten new likes on my latest Instagram-picture. Speaking of which, I think I’m known as the one who always posts pictures of beautiful sunsets at the beach and Starbucks-coffee with the hashtag “morning at the airport”, you know, the one that everybody is a bit jealous of because it seems that he or she has such an easy, wonderful life..
But to be honest, this isn’t the life I wanted. I’m not that one lucky, rich girl who travels to exotic places, searching for adventures and having the time of my life. I’m the girl who ran away. I know it sounds stupid. You know, it’s such a cliché. The girl who seems to have everything isn’t as happy as everybody thought. Instead, she’s kind of sad and has the wish to “Find the perfect one and only and live happily ever after.”
Seeing all the “normal” people’s pictures of their normal days when they’re spending time with their families or boyfriends makes me jealous. That’s the life I want. Ironic, isn’t it?
I took another zip from my latte and glanced at the old lady who sat next to me. Somehow she noticed, and started to look at me, with a thoughtful expression on her face. Maybe she could see the sadness inside me. Not long after I saw an older man coming to the same lounge, carrying two bags. I saw the old lady get a big smile on her face when she saw him. It did almost feel as God was trying to make me feel alone, because of course, the lady and the man were a happily married couple. Why hadn’t I noticed the pretty ring she had on her finger before?
I don’t know what it feels like to fall head-over-heels for someone; the only idea I have of what it must be like comes from romantic movies and love-songs, old love-songs in particular. That’s a dream, or more like a desire I had before I started travelling. I watched at least one movie from the genre “romance” every evening, and wanted to switch lives with some character in the movies so badly. It was practically the only thing I could think about. But when I started to travel, all those sad feelings and the desire faded away and now it’s forgotten. Well, not completely forgotten, but at least I can think about other things thanks to the traveing I do. I don’t feel the sadness as much anymore. When I walk through the gate to my flight, there are so many other feelings flowing inside of me; genuine happiness and excitement for example.
But there is one thing that’s stuck with me – a line out of the Beatles’ song When I’m Sixty-Four: “Doing the garden, digging the weeds – who could ask for more? Will you still need me, will you still feed me when I’m sixty-four?” This is something I hold to be true; the day I find someone who makes digging weeds an enjoyable thing to do, I know I’ve found the right person. Call me dorky if you want to, I can take that.
I turned my head to the other side of the lounge and started thinking. I remembered some memories from my younger years. When I grew up, I was the popular kid. The kid who the cute boys smiled at. I was the girl with the best friend with whom I could talk about anything. Now my only friends are my passport and my suitcase... I remember one friend I had especially, Justin. Justin with the golden-brown eyes and the smile who could make anyone fall in love with him. We were best friends for years, we walked to school with each other throughout both middle school and high school and we did all the things that best friends do. All we did became fun, even the most boring things like study history. Life was so easy back then, until my parents decided to move to the other side of the Atlantic ocean. That ruined everything. The friendship we had became a friendship never to be seen again, which is sad, because it really felt like we had something special together. But what to do, it was many years ago now.
I sighed and started to search for a trash-can to throw my empty cup in, when I saw a familiar face on the bench a few metres in front of me. I hesitated for just a second, was it really him? At the same time as I thought that, the boy, (or should I call him a man?) turned his head up, and his golden-brown eyes met mine. Though we hadn’t exchanged a single word yet, not even a ‘hello’, nun of us seemed to mind. We both smiled, and just sat there, looking at each other. I could hear the voice who says it’s time to board the plane in the background, but none of us were going to move. He couldn’t deny it. Neither could I.
This was love.
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