1. Leaving is never easy. Heart strings tug and yank and tear as you disentangle yourself from the life you have now. A few things make it easier: 10 months isn't very long, in the grander scheme of Everything; I'm going on an adventure, by myself, which makes me feel brave and capable; I will have so many stories to tell; Life. Just try deciding what goes into that suitcase though. Everything that gets left behind is essentially unnecessary and should go into the bargain bin at a hipster-haven secondhand store on Long Street. Then the goodbyes. These are the toughest. I will miss you all, my South African darlings. Most heartening though, is knowing that I have good reason to miss home: you. But dear Kerouac says it best: '“What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? - it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.” So, let's go.
2. Travelling alone is strange. You're surrounded by people, yet utterly alone. Cape Town-Dubai is easy and not too long. I have the window seat and no neighbours, so I order myself a glass of white wine and swing between watching bad on-flight films and reading Shantaram, which I've just started (it's good, but not impossible to put down, which ultimately leads to my putting it down and falling asleep). Thank you, B and P for your messages. They'll stick in my head, and if I forget, I'll read them again and again. Pieces of home. Dubai airport. Big, confusing, my next flight isn't even on the board yet because it only leaves in 8 hours time. I have to kill the graveyard shift (1-4 am) on my own. I have a 'WWGMD' moment and decide to explore, lugging my excessive amounts of hand luggage around with me until I find a reclining 'ergonomic' chair in which to while away the hours. Slowly the crowds disperse, I suppose they catch their connecting flights and discard their limbo, leaving me in mine with only the xylophone airport announcements. I try to find a position to sleep in that doesn't involve a crooked spine. It's impossible, but between 3 and 6 I manage to get some shut-eye. Come 6:30, I'm awake, fretting about finding the gate for my next flight, and watching the people around me. There are two Australians (I knew they were Australian from the second they arrived, without even hearing their accents), some Indian or Pakistani girls, the lady sleeping with her two children. Dubai-LA is a very long flight, straight over the North Pole, travelling backwards in time. I live 16 hours, while the rest of you live 5. My mind spins. My neighbour is oblivious, bored, and has a companion.
3. LA. I've left my I20 form at home in Cape Town - the single form that I actually need. So off I go to be interrogated by immigration officials. They're not too bad though. I suppose they already know just how terrifying they are so they don't need to flex any authority. I have a month to get a new I20 and post it to them, or I get shipped off to SA. No pressure. But I'm here. I've arrived. The challenge has begun and I'm rising to meet it. I sit on the cusp no more. Bring. It. On.
4. Welcome to Los Angeles. I've never seen a freeway with so many lanes (6) and yet so much traffic. The shuttle drops me outside my apartment, where Rosa meets me. Apartment? Perfect. Rosa? The best. After a cursory but necessary shower, I'm whisked off around Westwood. Everything is nearby. I've landed with my bum in the butter and no mistake. Too tired to eat, I stumble around until my legs sting with the forceful reminder that blood must circulate. Home. Bed. Dreamless sleep. Tomorrow.