The shuffle of people preparing themselves to land forced me to open my eyes. I heard the announcement of the pilot earlier, but I thought I could buy a few more minutes if I ignore it.

Cabin crew, prepare for landing.

I sigh and fix myself, checking my belt absentmindedly even if I know I barely moved away from my seat the past few hours. I blink the stupor away, flexing my neck and removing the stiffness.

“Excuse me,” A tall cabin crew member knelt on the aisle beside my ears, perhaps trying to modulate her voice, worried about alarming me. “I didn’t get to ask you earlier since you were sleeping, but would you need an immigration card?”

I was thankful for the kindness in her voice. I suppose she knows, too, because maybe I still looked a little dishevelled from my nap. Or maybe not just my nap, but maybe from life.

“No, thank you. I live here,” I manage to croak, the voice leaving my dry throat almost sounded like it barely came from mine.

She looked at me tentatively but she nodded. Maybe she didn’t really believe me much either when I said ‘I live here.’

To be honest, after everything that has happened, I don’t really know what living anywhere means anymore, either.

I don’t really know where is home.

I close my eyes again, forcing them shut for 10 minutes until I feel the bump of the tires hit the runway. There’s a barely audible collective sigh coming from the passengers, and I look around, finding some Korean passengers excitedly talking amongst themselves. Nothing like the relief of landing safe, I suppose, that breaks the breaths people have been inadvertently holding in.

The overhead speakers blast “Thank you for flying Korean Air,” and I tune out the inevitable.

I wait for a few minutes after the plane parks and the doors are opened before I grab my satchel from below the chair and try to overtake a few busybodies with arms stretched towards the overhead bin. I absently nod at the few cabin crews on the way out, but one of them holds my gaze a little longer. It’s the same cabin crew lady who offered me an immigration card.

She offers a small smile to my worried eyes and says, “Welcome home.”

I return a nervous smile. I wanted to tell her, it doesn’t feel like it, but she doesn’t need to know my demons.

I walk towards the immigration area as fast as I usually do, pulling my phone to check for any missed messages. I get a few from work, but my fingers navigate first towards yours.

I miss you already.

Can you SMS me later? Let’s find some time to talk today if we can.

I close my eyes and take a deep sigh. There’s a brewing anxiety that’s just refusing to leave me, and while I’m on the line towards immigration, my mind is flooded with so many things that I just can’t help myself with.

Maybe I should go back.

Maybe I can catch the first flight out back.

You’re gonna hurt yourself further if you don’t do this.

Lisa. It doesn’t have to be this way.

But suddenly it’s my turn with the immigration officer and I am forced to step ahead. Turn back, turn back, turn back, my head keeps screaming, and my vision is starting to spin. The immigration officer looks at me and asks, “Are you okay?” and I nod, and wonder how pale I must seem to him. He checks my passport and my identity card against the system before he slides my documents to me.

“Welcome home,” he offers, and as I grab them I feel the finality of it all.

Home.

I’m making a huge mistake, aren’t I?

I could still take the first flight out. I could do that.

I trudge towards the baggage area hazily, my heart drowning out my head. I spot a blue and green tartan luggage and listlessly move towards it; the weight barely making a dent in my arms. I walk towards the exit and find a few faces: mothers waiting for their family, some drivers holding up names of their clients, a few young faces perhaps waiting for their lovers.

The last thought leaving a bad sinking feeling in my stomach.

In that moment, I wished so much for you, Jennie. I wish I would find your face in the crowd to pick me up, too. I wish you would be there to tell me you’re glad to see me, and you’d thread your fingers against mine and I would just get lost in those eyes and think this is always worth coming home to.

But we’ve barely started and knowing how you like keeping things private, I’m sure this is still an unfamiliar path for you.

I hang my head low and fix my satchel before I pul