Time Flies; a cliche
Sitting there waiting. The anticipation building. My heart thumping…and it feels nice. There’s a warmth that surrounds me, a certain comfort that comes with the knowledge that she’s nearly home. Nearly in my arms.
I can see others rejoicing around me. The arrivals at Heathrow are bustling, and people are embracing and it kind of reminds of the opening scene in Love Actually. It’s so British. It’s formal and relaxed and funny. I love it. The way that a young girl runs towards an elderly couple is endearing and it makes me wonder about what will happen when she runs through those doors.
I’m going to cry. I know it, she knows it — and I reckon that her mother, who is sitting next to me — knows it too. It has been a long six months, and I cannot believe that today is here.
I think back to 3am about a month ago, when I sat in a friend’s kitchen, pissed out of my mind on skype to her, tearful and whinging that she had abandoned me and stating in no subtle way that I was not very pleased. She laughed at me, and did her make up in the mirror that her phone was balanced against. Watching her, perfecting her make up before class whilst I ruined mine before bed was a stark reality check. I missed her, and that was okay.
I don’t have to wait long before I start to see people coming through the sliding doors with suitcases tagged — CHN to HRW — marking their journey from China to Heathrow. I shake myself, straighten my new shirt that I bought especially for this and breathe deeply. That hypnosis and mediation I have been doing recently have really helped.
I wonder if I’ve changed.
I mean, I know physically I have — almost four stone lighter and with slightly faded dark brunette hair, I’m basically a different person.
But my personality?
I get that I have matured, and that my confidence has grown since I returned to university. Since I made friends my own age again, and am able to actually structure my time well. Shit, I think that coming back to university was far better for me then the whole two-year period of working full time surrounded by disillusioned forty something year olds. I feel excited again. I think that my mind set might be what has changed.
I’m happy again. I hope she can see that.
Even though I am anticipating this moment, I am still surprised to see her limping out of the doors with her suitcase that must weigh a fucking tonne. Her massive coat is cosy and warm and her hair is all over the place. I feel a smile spread so far across my face that my cheeks hurt, and my eyes well up as she spots me and smiles.
Seventeen years of graft have gone into this friendship — and any doubts surrounding whether we could survive these past months vanish in an instant.
I am so thankful for my best friend.