Window Seat: One way

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(scribbled somewhere above the clouds)

It’s not even the plane.
It’s before that.
When the announcements start, when they stamp your passport,
when your parents’ faces start shrinking in your rearview,
when your best friend texts "call me when you land"
and you don’t even know how to reply
because you’re already crying, but the tears haven’t fallen yet.

It’s like you’re walking underwater.
Everything around you is moving normally,
but you—you’re floating inside your own chest.
And it’s loud. And quiet.
And so much.

You’re not just leaving a country.
You’re leaving versions of yourself you’ll never meet again.

The one who sat on the terrace crying and ranting about nothing and everything.
The one who danced wildly at 2 a.m.
The one who laughed until she forgot she was tired.
The one who loved too quickly, forgave too deeply, stayed too long.
The one who used to whisper to herself,

“One day I’ll get out. One day I’ll be more than this.”

And now…
you are.

But oh god, why does it feel like a loss too?

Your heart starts naming everything you didn’t pack:

The exact smell of home after a rainstorm.
The way your mom says your name when you’re sick. The way your dad hugged you when you cried a bit too much. 
That spot where you used to meet them, him, her.
Those texts. The fights you never resolved. The maybe that never became.
Your little sister’s footsteps as she runs to hug you.
The silence of your old study room.
The jokes that don’t need explaining.
The comfort of being understood—without effort.

You want to pause. The time to just stop.
To go back for just one more day.
To hug tighter.
To eat slower.
To tell people things you didn’t say when you had the chance.

But you can’t.

Because the gate’s closing.
And your dream’s calling.
And your body keeps moving, even if your soul is screaming wait.

And then you’re on the flight.

Seatbelt clicked. Earbuds in. 
Air thins. Lights dim.
And suddenly, it all unravels.

You’re crying now. Not cute, silent tears—
the kind that comes from deep inside,
from holding in too much, for too long.

Because this dream?
It cost you everything.

And you said yes anyway.

There’s no one to tell this to.
You don’t even know how to explain it.
You’re proud. You’re broken. You’re terrified. You’re free.

Your mind’s flipping through memories like a movie on 3x speed—
Your people. Your places. Your past.
The way it smells in December.
The way your best friend pulled you into a dance circle.
The feeling of those voices saying your name.
The hugs. The kisses. The songs. The notes. The photos. The memories you swore you’d never forget.
It’s all there, crashing into you at once.

And for a moment, it feels like too much.

Maybe I’m not ready.
Maybe I made the wrong choice.
Maybe I don’t know who I am without all this.

But then—

The plane lifts.
And your heart aches, but your chest expands.

You are not just leaving.
You’re becoming.

You’re becoming the girl who said yes to herself.
The girl who walked away—not because she stopped loving,
but because she started loving her future more.

You carry all of it with you.
Every person. Every place. Every moment. Every soft goodbye.
It hurts because it mattered.

So you sit there.
Tears drying.
Eyes swollen.
Head pressed to the window.

And you whisper to the sky—

“I’m scared.
I’m grateful.
I’m not ready.
But I’m going anyway.”

And that’s what makes it beautiful.


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