Even though I found myself with less and less things to do in Perth in the days leading up to my departure, I still felt a reluctance to leave the place which has been my home for about 4 months. The last night was the hardest. Katie, my American housemate, knocked on my door in the afternoon to wish me goodbye as she was leaving earlier than I was. She’ll be spending the summer working/volunteering in Australia. Gerard’s staying put for the summer too but he left early to get laid somewhere so he wished me an early farewell as well. Aw, how nice of him…
Much later, Amy, Tom, and I gathered in Tom’s room and watched movies together. Adam joined us a little later after having his own little farewell with his friends as he was leaving around the same time as I was. He will be travelling up north to Exmouth to do volunteer work in turtle conservation for his Biology studies. It didn’t matter that we watched chick flicks (A Cinderella Story and 50 First Dates), but it’s the fact that all of us shared our last night as Flat 28 together. We tried going through Bad Boys 2, but we were all tired and dispersed at 5am to finish packing and stuff.
Andrew, a close family friend living in Perth, was nice enough to come over at 6:30am to pick up my junk and was to drive me to the airport. Adam was making/burning toast during that time, and the infamous smoke detector alarm went off as I entered the flat for the last time to pick the rest of my stuff up. I smiled and yelled at Adam that I will miss that racket. He shook his head.
“I won’t.”
My last goodbyes were short and somewhat a little simple, but I try to think that I will see them again next year when I go back early February as most of them are leaving only at the end of February. That’s my consolation from going totally emo.
At the airport, I was bummed that I didn’t manage to get a window seat, so I was stuck in the aisle with a Perth man who couldn’t stop talking to me. The two seats beside me were empty, so I scooted to the middle seat to avoid flying spittle.
Two people were passing by my aisle, one asking the other,
“Hey, what number’s your seat?�
“67!! Ugh!�
“At least you’ll live…�
This was when my eyes darted to look at my seat number – 32. I’m so dead.
My transit flight from Phuket to Bangkok was delayed by half an hour, and it made me shit in my pants for a moment wondering if it’ll make me late for my flight from Bangkok to Vietnam. I checked my boarding pass – hey seat number 62! At least I’ll survive…
Anyway, after 10 collective hours of sitting on a couple of airplanes (not including the hours of cluelessly walking around transit areas in Phuket and Bangkok), I’ve finally arrived in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. There was an improvement in the attitude of the immigration officers this time, replacing the unsmiling, strict and robotic demeanors of the old officers with young and courteous ones who’d try to chat and joke with you with a smile on their military-esque faces.
Vietnam, here I am, gimme your best shot!
Awww.. sad sad sad.. If i were u.. probably i will cried out loud for sure.. well say hi to ur hottie friend for me.. *grinz* you know who i am talking about right?? haha *devil’s mode is fully on*