The Doorway

In front of the doorway sits a woman behind a desk. When you hand her your American passport, the woman with dyed-orange hair looks up at you over her glasses, taking a curious, but not-long-enough-to-make-it-an-impolite-stare glance at the face of a foreigner. The American's face looks back at her, with indifferent melancholy. The American has been given the not-quite-stare many times before. However, this time is his last. The American is tired, even though he got more than enough of his eight hours of sleep last night. In fact, he slept like a baby. The fatigue he is feeling now has been ten months coming. He has been awake, constantly moving, constantly learning and experiencing for almost a year, and now he is about to fall asleep, although this sleep will not be as sound as his last. He will be woken up in the middle of the night several times... by Korea, Los Angeles, Chicago. When he finally wakes up from this sleep, it will be like the last ten months had been the long dream that you have in the 5 minutes between the ring of your alarm clock and the snooze. Did that really happen? All of his friends and family are still here, he's in my own bed, and today looks like another sunny day... the woman with the dyed orange hair stamps his passport and waves him on, slightly annoyed that this foreigner is holding up her line. He looks back at the friends that may or may have not come to the airport to see him off. And then he disappears through the doorway.

This is the doorway that is the start of the security checkpoint in the Vladivostok Airport which has already swallowed so many of my friends in the past few days. My friends are already all there on the other side of the doorway, and I, tomorrow, will join them.

310 days...
13 cities...
2 countries...
-36 degrees...
Many friends...
Even more memories...
And a whole lotta' Russia

Do Svidaniya! Until we meet again!