myth of fingerprints

(on the way to a very northern corner of norway this summer)

the odd tinkling buzz of my phone prods its way through my sleep at the somewhat ungodly hour of four. the haziness of having spent multiple days amongst piles of clothing and a tiny collection of cooking implements makes this required get-up not all too difficult, mainly because i'm still in some strange trance of limbo-state-senses. this has happened before, of course, in my multiple journeys to and from the sub-continent; the stumbling out of bed to see a last-minute to-do list and a pile of well-if-there's-space items. showers of slow-motion, dressing in pre-prepared outfits, and still somehow managing to make my mother wait in the car whilst i collect myself and my many pieces in a haste is how i do it.

this time around though, i'm not off on my long-haul to heat, but on a far shorter trip across the channel. being so used to the process of overweight baggage-fear (without fail, every single piece of luggage i've carried has been overweight in the past two years, and furthermore, i've lost my luggage twice too) and mental and physical prep for sitting/staring/leaving/arriving, it's going to be weird to just be there in an hour. packing for my university beginning (i can't believe i've gotten this far!) was difficult for similar reasons; i kept assuming that i'd be returning to a campus in the countryside, where i'd need my own supplies of shampoo, dutch cheese and clothing. in my mind, 'big packing' is now strongly linked to 'packing for a hot, isolated hilltop community' - something that meant i often packed very comfortable clothing and always assumed i could stock up on scarves once i got there. now, however, it's packing for seasons i haven't seen in quite a while - and winterwear is considerably heavier than the indian summer stuff i wore for so long. it's packing for a country i already know, where i'll be able to buy food in supermarkets down the road and where people may care a little bit more about wandering barefoot students in boxershorts. i don't know yet, nor am i sure how much i'll mind others minding (then again, i doubt bare feet and boxers are a great ensemble for temperatures lower than fifteen degrees), but where i haven't a clue on what sort of person to expect or what the overriding ideology of the community is.

so now i'm at the airport, wading in transit-time, which i feel is really one of the few spaces in which one can simply sit, reflect maybe (oh the habits of being part of the triveni (cas (extra-curricular activities)) coordination committee die hard) or just zone out. of course, there's the worry of outsized handluggage to come (will i ever not be overpacked for journeys?), and then the adventure really starts. for now, i'm intrigued by the atmosphere of a passing-through space like this, where you can go anywhere and with anyone, and the gates are lit up and everything is bare. not undecorated perhaps, but in an attempt to reach efficiency, the moving pavements softly whir, the hallways gleam and the check-in desks even have automated luggage drop-offs now (these are, by the way, awful for any overpackers, because you can't even attempt the 'but i'm a student' card with them), and you know you won't leave an imprint here. and with everyone here coming from and going to everywhere, it's funny when you're completely off guessing their destination. on my way to the gate, i spotted a group of indians, and, assuming they were going home, i checked the board to see which city. birmingham.

and so the traveling continues.