I sobbed my way into the Uber from my friend’s place in Mexico City to the airport, missing all my friends and the wonderful things to do in Mexico City already. Mind you, I was pretty drunk from the party that had just occurred and was still raging on into the early hours of the morning as I cruised along to my flight. I was ridiculously excited to see friends and family across Canada and the States, while terribly heartbroken to leave the one place I connect to as home; Mexico. It didn’t help that I’d developed a wee crush on a boy in Mexico City. Okay, I get wee crushes a lot. I’ll get over it. Still, it didn’t stop my crying in the Uber.
And so I arrived at the airport, and proceeded to crash out hard on my flight to Houston. Suddenly we were there, and I found a place to sleep on the airport floor. This, of course, was immediately halted; “A fire has been reported in the building,” announced with sirens filling my ears. God damn it, I was just falling asleep. I got up and got out of the building, noticing many people remaining inside. Um, Texas, did you not have fire drills? Fire means leave building. M’kay?
Of course my arrival in Atlanta ended the bittersweetness that had been plaguing me. Suddenly I was in a land with people who felt like home, and the tears ended (though some strange things continued to occur, but more on that some other day). I immediately bought some hair dye to transform; it has been my habit for many years to transform my hair when I reach a new country.
And so I continue my visit in Atlanta, blazing and chilling, chilling and blazing, in the search of the perfect little Osprey backpack to continue its travels with me, as mine has, to be frank, shit the bucket. It doesn’t help that it was once sorta, um, peed on. Just a little bit!
Onwards and upwards, to visit the friends and family I love and miss the most when I find myself “home” in Mexico. Until then, I will mourn for you and eagerly await my next visit to the love of my life, Zipolite, Mexico.