Love, Megh

chanel no. 5

I get so sad at the airport. Even when I am close to home. Sometimes, just seeing people say goodbye or a welcome home hug between strangers puts a lump in my throat. I don’t even know how many times I have cried in an airport; tears streaming down my face as I lug my suitcase through the concourse. I think people are afraid of crying flight attendants, and its not because of their dripping mascara. Flight attendants have a reputation of being a bit unstable, overworked and underpaid. Constantly being yelled at and talked down to, I feel like I hide my emotions and words back so often while on the job that I can never predict when I will become emotional.

As I reread that paragraph, it sounds so awful.

I honestly feel like my emotional nerve endings were placed on the outside of my body and I am overly conscious of other peoples feelings and maybe too much of my own. Then I have a side that is completely numb to other people’s feelings. Playing flight attendant is really quite confusing. This probably makes me better at what I do. But sometimes goes against what I naturally feel. Right now, I am sitting and writing at gate D6 in Bangkok’s airport. I do not feel like I am anywhere but somewhere new. I do not feel uncomfortable because I am not talking to anyone. I do not feel like I am far from home because this airport is very modern and the people are from all over the world. I just feel alone.

An hour ago I was with Natalie and we were trying to check into our flights. I tend to forget that I am somewhere foreign when I travel with a friend. The whole world somehow exists but disappears from around you when you can have a common conversation in a completely foreign land. As soon as we had to say our goodbyes I knew I just wanted to run up the escalator and melt into the sea of people in passport control. I could cry there without looking crazy. I hate goodbyes.

I know that I can remember all of the major goodbyes in my life dating back to being a child and the last time my Grandmother ever visited Ohio. It was back when you could still say your goodbyes at the gate. She pulled me into her big fur coat that reeked of Chanel No. 5.  

keerank asked: hi are you a flight attendant? if you are , how is it :) , and does it affect your social life a lot?

I’m a flight attendant. It’s a great job/career. But it is what you make out of it and its not for everybody. It absolutely affects my social life. If you have any other questions feel free to ask!

confidence

I always get very nervous before I go on on trip outside of the country.  I am nervous right now.  I am excited too, but this feeling is most easily compared to the feeling I get while waiting in line for a roller coaster (I hate roller coasters!).  I am really fucking scared.

When I am in a country that does not speak English, I feel foolish, and dumb.  For not knowing the local tongue and often for being an American. I can not think back to a time in my life where I could not read, write or speak English.  To go to a different country that is completely foreign to me, from customs, language, food… is to be a baby again.  It is a feeling I only get when outside my comfort zone, the United States of America. I enjoy putting myself in these uncomfortable situations; being alone with no real understanding of what is surrounding me or how to communicate.  It’s beyond anything I could ever experience in a normal day. I am suddenly in a world where I can not even count money.  I get on a bus and it takes me more than the normal two seconds to count out a few coins.  And when I sheepishly push them towards the driver in exchange for my ticket, I have no confidence that I even gave him the correct fare. And then, I have to really concentrate on where the bus is going, listening to words over a PA that are completely alien, while hoping I see a familiar building that i came across while on a Google search the week before. Successfully conquering public transit, alone, in a non English speaking country is quite possibly one of my greatest accomplishments.

Ordering in a restaurant is even more difficult.  I normally love ordering food off a menu.  In America, I excitedly sit at the dinner table, practicing in my head what I will say to the waiter, “May I please have the …..” but give me a menu with a million items I have never seen before and prices I can not comprehend, and I am a suddenly a bashful child.  The words will barely roll off my tongue and my confidence dwindles. My voice will become very quiet. This is the very moment, and only moment ever, that I wish I had an overpowering boyfriend to order off the menu for me.

I remember looking at myself in the mirror once while I was in Uganda and seeing myself, but I was a child.  Maybe nine.  No make up, just freckles splashed across my nose.  My eyes seemed smaller, and darker.  My hair was pulled back in a loose French braid and little whisps of baby hairs curled from the humidity around my forehead. It made me feel beautiful and it reminded me that I was exactly where I was supposed to be, doing exactly what I was meant to do. 

Moments like this do not make me proud to be an American.  But, they do make me feel lucky. These moments remind me to not get pissed off when I have to “press 1 for English” (seriously, who the hell cares. It’s one button and there are a gazzillion languages on this big Earth and we all deserve to go wherever we please) It reminds me to try to learn a few phrases in other languages and speak them with any sort of confidence I can muster. And, it reminds me to not be such a fly on the wall in other cultures.  When I go to Bangkok this weekend I want to make it my new mission to be the bold traveler I see myself as in dreams at night. I want to continue to live out the dreams of that nine year old girl from Ohio who I often see staring back at me when I glance in the mirror.

stunning-view asked: How to seduce a stewardess ? ;)

Never mention that you have a thing for stewardesses.

That’s creepy.

blacktiesandamericanthighs asked: Hey I saw that you are based out of New York! I'm in training right now, and I just got placed in New York! I really want to avoid the whole crash pad thing. Any suggestions? Would living in Pennsylvania and commuting be a good option?

Commuting while on reserves sucks, and is almost impossible cause you need somewhere to be while you wait for scheduling to call. There are so many crash pads in Kew Gardens… It’s a neighborhood filled with people in the industry. I lived in Brooklyn the whole time I was on reserve and even into getting a line with friends that weren’t in the industry. It’s expensive, and you’ll probably be broke, but I hated the idea of getting a crash pad and commuting.

Even while living in any of the burroughs, the commute to any airport in NYC is sorta crazy (via public transit) so I would get a crash pad if I were you… or just find some really nice roommates and make NYC your new home!

Good luck!

Anonymous asked: where you from?

Cleveland, Ohio. Based in NYC.

At this moment, I know I am as free as I will ever be in my life.

I just spent the week running around the south… drinking awful wine and whiskey, dancing to the blues in a smokey, grimey bar with a handsome boy, laughing with my friends and sleeping wherever and eating whatever we could find, visiting my family to play cards and watch beautiful birds, painting my toe nails on the beach…

And now I will go home and sleep until I feel like doing something else.

Days like these remind that it is okay to be alone. It’s okay to be poor. It’s okay to be 26. It’s okay to live my life just as I wish.

Drunk bidding

reservelife:

#dangerous

Yes yes yes yes. Someone make one for drunk packing vs sober packing!