in transit
Suitcase is packed, walls are stripped, the heart is settled, and underneath my dressing table is a firmly closed white shoebox inlaid with red tissue paper and beautiful memories. I AM NOT A ROMANTIC AT ALL, of course not. I fly home tonight, with a sense of newness. On that note: my father has in the past two days delivered four separate exhortations - two on the phone, one via email and one via SMS - not to forget my flight tonight. I am forgetful, but dear dad, utter senility is still a ways off.