Homecoming

As the plane touched down on Polonia's tarmac, I let out a sigh of relief. The trip was not at all convenient with all the unnerving jolts and bumps. I was concerned to think that in spite of my personal accumulating mileage, in the not-so-distant future I might have to be drugged before even contemplating putting my ass down on that supposedly safest-means-of-travel-known-to-man.

The aforementioned apparatus taxied, and telltale tones of Nokia phones being prematurely switched on were audible everywhere. It is my strong opinion that there should be more stringent laws stipulating penalties for the mentally-challenged with mobile phones. This statement might not sound very politically-correct, but I am easily annoyed to see people talking exuberantly INSIDE an airplane, as though they could not live without their phones for mere hours.

If what Roy M. Goodman said were true, that happiness is a way of travel – not a destination; then I stepped out of the former into the latter being an unhappy man. I proceeded into the main airport building with a lingering aerotitus and was immediately charged by a throng of porters fighting for my insignificant shoulder bag. I repelled the nuisance by switching into my old hometown persona: I glowered, snarled, and shoved. Homecoming was supposed to be a pleasant experience, but 1-hour take-off delay in Jakarta managed to ruin my mood. And to think that I spent a bulk of my ridiculous government salary on this particular airline for its comparative punctuality! As much as I hate to admit it, the recent ban by EU on Indonesia’s airlines seemed justified at that very moment. To add to my list of grudges, the airport was as dismal as I’d remembered it, regardless of the recent news that it had been chosen as one of the best airports in the country.

Anyway, I left my grievances at the landing strip, and reminded myself that I was coming home for a good reason. My youngest sister was getting married, and it turned out that almost 1500 guests (rough headcount) swarmed the wedding party. As I shook hands here and there, vague recollection of faces and forgotten names were rushing through my head. Also, as the wedding render me the only one in the family not brandishing a ring; the handshakes were inevitably supplemented by polite/impolite/downright annoying questions of kapan nyusul?

No matter, though. A family gathering was always something to cherish about, and a broad smile was etched on my face as I buckled up en route back to the capital three days later. At the end of trip, I think I’d settle for George Burns’ version of happiness: it is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city.

Félicitations, ma p'tite…