I just walked through the terminal, like a million times, and all the screens were flashing arrivals and departures for places I been to, all of them. Twenty years a flight attendant, you see everything, right? And I did, I saw the pyramids and the Great Wall and that crazy little island with the blue doors, and my folks back home, they think I made it, like I’m a big success, seeing the world and all, and they tell my cousins "she’s been everywhere!" and I smile and nod and send them money but it’s just airports, really, and hotel rooms that all look the same, and different kinds of coffee, but it’s still coffee, and you never really stay long enough for anything to stick. And I remember when I started, my dad, he said “go, see it all, find your place” but that place, I thought it would just... happen, like one day I’d step off the plane and this feeling would hit me, like THIS, this is it, this is home, and I’d know, but that never happened. And my kids are grown now, off doing their own thing, and my mother she’s getting forgetful, and she’s always asking me "when are you going to settle down? find a nice man? stop flying around like a bird?" and I don't know what to tell her because I AM settled down, this IS my life, this is all I know. And sometimes I think about the little apartment near the airport, and all my stuff, just... stuff, you know? Souvenirs from places I barely remember, a little statue from Thailand, a tea set from Japan, and they just sit there gathering dust, and they don’t mean anything, not really, just reminders of a different time zone. And I keep looking at the departure board, like maybe there’s one I missed, one place I haven’t been yet that will finally make sense, but I’ve been to all of them, and it’s always just another flight, another airport, another sterile hallway. And then I was walking past a gate, and they were boarding for my hometown, the old country, and there were so many families, speaking my language, and the kids were all excited, and the grandmas had all their scarves on, and for a second I thought, maybe... maybe I should just get on that plane, go back, but then what? What would I do there? I don't belong there either, not really, I’m too Americanized, and they’d see it, and I’d feel it, and it would just be another place I’m passing through, another temporary stop, and it’s just... exhausting, you know? And I just keep walking, through the moving walkways and past the duty-free shops, and I see my reflection in the glass, and I look tired, and I look like someone who’s seen too much, but understood too little, and it’s just... this empty feeling, like I collected all these experiences but none of them are mine, not really, and my whole life is just a layover, and I don't even know where I'm going next. And I just wanted to say it, I guess. That’s all. I just wanted to say it.