Are we there yet, are we there yet

My room's disappearing. It's being packed away. Little things are being put away in boxes. Panic buttons. My insides turn. Sometimes happily, but so much more out of nervousness. I don't have an anchor at the moment. How I hate airports, and the effort it takes to not cave in.

I am doing this. Making this choice. My father will smile broadly, always brave, and genuine, and tell me to have a great time. Mommy and I will hug long. And I will have blurry vision then, and a quivering chin, and deny, deny, I am not upset. But I don't feel that strong. I want to dive back into my quilt, wake up on a winter morning 9 years ago, and be told to hurry up with breakfast because neither school nor the bus will wait. Then my brother and I would put our tiffins in our bags and prod along, mouths bread- full, and cranky to each other.

And so Bombay it is. A job it is. I shall survive both. Of course I will; I'm the steely know-all. We went to boarding school with all guns blazing, full tears streaming, but we went. Kicked, cried, and grew to love. And I shall try to tell myself its the same thing, in an adult world, and that this is normal -- for rooms to shrink, and for every little knick-knack that gets put away to make me feel gravitated to a very very low place. Deep breaths, and more deep breaths. It must be serious when my clear skin these days is not quite rainbow in blue sky. Equal amounts of tears and laughter. Wish me luck, for all the unexpectant thrills, and bumps of a new city.