In a little over three hours I'll be on a plane to Heathrow. Everything feels so normal: soccer on the telly; Miro gaming up a storm on his computer; Mum organising everything in sight. it doesn't feel at all like this is the last time I'm going to see my home and family in at least a year, maybe two. I imagine this is due to either:
a) I'm giving this going-away moment an importance it doesn't really have, or
b) I haven't realised fully yet exactly what I'm getting myself into.
I'm putting my money on the latter. Either way, I can't back out now. And I don't want to. I think finally all my fears are starting to give way to excitement. This morning, I put my U2 CD on the stereo, pressed random, and said to myself,
"Please be 'Angel of Harlem'. Please be 'Angel of Harlem'."
'Angel of Harlem' came on, and I couldn't suppress my squeals and giggles of delight. I'm taking that as a good omen. It's time to set off for the airport now - see you on the other side!
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