Half-Hearted

Twenty minutes before I board the plane bound for Dubai. I've been sitting here at a little coffee shop for a few hours now, my assigned gate just metres away. Gate 28 is swarming with people from all walks of life–entire families with children or old folks, backpackers with bags almost as tall as them, couples linking arms or sharing drinks, business people who can't seem to stop looking at their watches or pressing their gadgets. Every corner is buzzing with conversation. A flurry of movements everywhere. I did not make this decision lightly. Neither soul-searching nor vacation, this trip is for my peace of mind. Like raising your glass to solitude. Or an ode to a brighter future. I look pensive and uninterested while I sip the most bitter coffee I've tasted in a while. Five dollars to ingest shoe polish. I shake my head in disappointment. Not a novice traveller by any means, but no matter how many flights I book each year, I still can't get over airport prices–highway robbery at its finest. I've never been to Europe. This is my first foray into the land of myths and legends. A continent where colonial empires once thrived. Born without privileges and an erstwhile corporate slave, it has taken me this long to travel outside of Asia. My bank account will definitely suffer, but at least my heart is full. I planned this journey some time ago, knowing all too well what I've gotten myself into. No regrets... no looking back. While swimming in my own thoughts, a no-nonsense female voice makes an announcement through the airline speakers at Gate 28: "Calling all passengers for Flight B888 FJ448, bound for Dubai International Airport. We are now ready to board. Please prepare your boarding pass." I jolt from my seat, almost spilling my bitter coffee. First time in an international flight business class compartment and it feels great not to be seated so close to total strangers. Elated at how business class seats are properly spaced apart, I plop myself into the large cushion and arrange my belongings beside me. Except for a laptop, two phones, a headset, a wallet and a book, my small backpack is basically empty; everything else in my check-in luggage. I can't believe this space is all mine for more than ten hours! Had I taken this trip years ago, back in my twenties, I would probably gloat for days and post on my socials non-stop. But this is me, in my mid-thirties, and this latest version has already seen much of life. When you've been there and done that, you are basically tired of performative actions and just want to get to the point. I guess it's true what they say about millennials: We have skipped mid-life crisis and are now embracing our "granny phase." And as of this moment, this granny is nothing but giddy and excited. I'd probably get drunk on all the free wines they offer. Champagne, red wine, vodka. Name it. I'll chug whatever they have. I squirm a bit, trying hard to control the excitement bubbling in me. I also suspect that the shoe polish coffee I drank earlier was actually more potent than expected. Hence, my borderline hyper behaviour. I take off the scrunchie that keeps my hair together in a bid to give my head some time to cool off, but I end up pulling it way too hard. To my horror, the scrunchie flies to the seat beside me. I rise from my seat and try to snatch it. Right then, the passenger, who has just finished locking their overhead compartment, sits the moment my hand touches the cushion. "Ow! Ow!" I cry out as their bum hits my forearm. "Oh, s-sorry." The passenger jumps up and I quickly pull out my arm, along with the stray scrunchie. So much for snatching quietly. "It's my fault," I say, bowing. "I'm really sor–" "Kris?" I bring my head up. The lady looking at me has a slightly round face. Her dark hair is short, somewhere between a wolf-cut and a bob. Her eyes are wide and somewhat sparkling. She is every bit the cool, chic, business person one can expect in a world-class airline. Her attire may look simple, what with a black blazer and a white shirt underneath, paired with plain jeans and dark sneakers, but her whole vibe screams "world traveller." "You're Kris, right?" I half-open my mouth, trying to recall where I last saw them or if indeed I recognise them. Nothing comes to mind. They look oddly familiar, but given the circumstances we're in, the plane trembling in wait as passengers enter and scramble to find their assigned seats, the flight attendants roaming around the aisles to guide and assist, I can't seem to extract anything from my brain's archives. "Uhm..." I stutter, not wanting to offend. I really can't remember where I met her. "Rae. We're classmates in sixth grade and first year high school." She says, eyes crinkling at the corners and mouth curled, slightly amused. I stare at her, dumbfounded, as realisation slowly dawns. "Oh! Oh...Rae." I sound like a total i***t. On any day, I would definitely recognise this face. But not on my first trip to Europe. Oh, why can I not remember? "It's been so long–uhmm, wait for a moment, let me just walk to my seat." I realise belatedly that I'm mildly shaken. I'm not sure if it was because of her bum landing on my wrist, which is embarrassing and silly and just a tad bit painful, or the prospect of meeting someone from my past on a trip I intend to enjoy on my own. "Calm down." She peeks from her side of the aisle. "I am calm." I manage to sit without incident, slowly turning towards her. "Does your arm hurt? I think I sat on it." I waved at her. "I'm fine. Don't worry." I don't mean to be awkward, but suddenly seeing old classmates in the most unexpected places is distressing for me. Truth be told, back in school, we were far from close. Nor did we talk much. She was sporty and funny, a typical popular masculine girl who was loved by many. I had my good moments, too, but for the most part I was withdrawn and erratic with a resting b***h face. I looked like I was scowling all the time. Unlike her, who had the same friend group from start to finish, I was always in a different clique each year of high school. Almost like I had no fixed identity or, worse, nowhere to belong to. Of all the places to encounter a classmate! Since the awkwardness is getting to me and I have nothing more to say to her, I decide to face forward, attach my seatbelt and pretend to read messages from my phone (even though a flight attendant has just told the seat before me that mobile devices should be switched off). I hastily press airplane mode and drop my phone inside my backpack. "Kris?" I turn to her again, fighting off the discomfort that's taking over my psyche. There was no bad blood between us if I can recall. I wonder why it's hard to act naturally in front of her. "Yes?" "So where are you heading to?" Rae asks, her dark, sparkly eyes curious. I hesitate. Well, it's not like I'd lose anything if I tell her the truth. Besides, what are the odds we're going to the same country? "Lithuania. Just for a few days." I'm lying. I'll be there for at least three weeks. Or more than a month if I like the place. "That's cool! I've never been. They say the food there is great." In a deadpan way, eyes fixed on the aisle, I blurt out exactly what I was thinking even though I had no intention of saying it out loud: "I just want potatoes." Rae snorts a laugh. "What?" I look at her. Her shoulders are shaking while she covers her mouth, probably trying to hide her laughing face. I find her eyes surveying me like some odd creature, even as they crinkle at the corners. "I don't remember you being this funny." She finally says, rubbing her eyes. Damn, she's pretty. And handsome. Even without makeup. I find myself self-conscious. I applied my cheap eyeliner hastily an hour ago, so I'm afraid to botch it in front of this good-looking, obviously rich lady. "Yeah, 'cause the last time we saw each other was almost twenty years ago." I turn to face the monitor, pretending to scroll through the list of movies. "And what have you been up to all those years?" Ugh. When will she stop interrogating me? This trip is clearly off to a bad start. "Uhmm, just here and there." I try my best to sound casual, but the annoyance in my voice may have leaked off as she suddenly replies, "All right. All right. I won't ask." She's great at taking hints. Somehow, I feel childish and immature for acting this way. It's totally normal for a former classmate to strike up a conversation. It's just small talk. No need to be hostile. I chastise myself. "No, sorry, I'm a bit disoriented. Work, you ask? Well, I'm a freelancer. I write stuff for random clients." This time, I face her properly, with every bit of sincerity I can muster, brushing off the awkward air cold turkey. "Oh, okay," she nods her head, noticing my willingness to talk this time. "And you? What have you been up to? Where are you heading?" Since she likes questions, I'll turn the tables on her. Rae holds back a laugh. "I work in finance. I'm meeting up with one of our clients in Dubai." "Trust fund. Six five... blue eyes. Finance..." She catches me randomly murmuring to myself and starts snorting again. "It's a meme." I say to her in case she doesn't know. After a pause, I threw my hands up in exasperation. "I'm sorry, Rae. I'm bad at small talk." "No worries." Her voice sounds firm, with a slight chuckle. I glance over my shoulder and for a moment, our eyes meet. I freeze. I just want to see what expression she's making, but suddenly locking gaze is unnerving. As calmly as possible, even though my insides are churning, I slowly look away. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard Flight B888 FJ448, bound for Dubai International Airport. We ask that you straighten up your seats, fasten your seatbelts and stow your tray tables for takeoff." Ah, what perfect timing. I have an excuse not to look in her direction. A stewardess moves in front of us, ready to guide passengers through the aircraft's safety features. If Rae's observant enough, she would see past my charade as I pretend to be engrossed at the flight attendant's demonstration. It must be my imagination, but I can feel a pair of sharp eyes, piercing holes on the side of my face.