We're only human - Unplugged

In the Miami airport. Despite the fact my passport expires in eleven days and the mandate that passports have a six month expiration buffer, the militaristic lady at customs lets me pass. She asks me what I did for two months and I tell her, well, I cruised. She is confused but my skin color, confidence, and charm nip her questions in the bud. Flights are delayed and I learn that a storm blankets the Southern US and Caribbean seas. It makes sense to me— this morning I walked to the airport in ferocious winds and a torrential downpour. I didn’t think much of it until I felt the collective stress in Terminal 3 and the frantic Delta employee announcing Hurricane Idalia’s Cat-4 status. I connect to the internet for the first time to a bombardment of “You okay?!?” messages from folks back home who still follow the emergencies of the day minute. Yeah, the rain and breeze made the temps quite nice I tell them.

It’s odd to hear English again, and to eat my first “fresh” leafy vegetables, and to have clean public restrooms with toilet paper, and to see people of diversity, and to fill my water bottle from the sink, and to see advertisements. Everywhere. My personal favorite was a flashing neon strobe light asking me to ‘follow’ the Miami International Airport on Instagram.

My flight will be one of the last to squeak by before the eye of Idalia focuses her gaze upon us. I’m going home. It feels weird to be told I need to buckle a strap around my waist when just sixteen hours earlier I stood in the back of an open-bed truck barreling down the dirt road holding a rope tied to the hood of the “taxi”. I was shoulder to shoulder with seven others whose ages spanned from seven to seventy. For the past two months, I’ve been jumping onto moving buses too efficiently to fully stop, dangling off of motorcycles, bouncing in horse carriages, and clinging to boats. Now, however, for safety reasons, I need to have my bag neatly tucked underneath my upright seat and my tray returned to its original position. Back to the land of pudgy house cats.

The headrest of the seat in front of me has an LED screen that proudly boasts Delta’s slogan: “Everything you need. All in one place.” I congratulate Delta for its succinct diagnosis and summary of the root of the problem that permeates the collective psyche of us domesticated Americans. A flight attendant passes out earbuds to anyone who wants them for free. Cuba is but a stone's throw away and life’s realities have alchemized from one of ‘no food’ to that of ‘single-use headphones’ in the snap of an economic finger.

The plastic bag enveloping the headphones reads, in large text: “Plug in and tune out.” I laugh audibly. I couldn’t, in a million years, think of a better antithesis to everything I believe to be true. I contemplate, for fun, complaining to the flight attendant why my headphones aren’t Bluetooth but moral discernment gets the better of me. I open the plastic bag, remove the rubber wires, and do what the text instructs me to do.

The Breakfast Club is on demand and I’m only human.

In the Miami airport. Despite the fact my passport expires in eleven days and the mandate that passports have a six month expiration buffer, the militaristic lady at customs lets me pass. She asks me what I did for two months and I tell her, well, I cruised. She is confused but my skin color, confidence, and charm nip her questions in the bud. Flights are delayed and I learn that a storm blankets the Southern US and Caribbean seas. It makes sense to me— this morning I walked to the airport in ferocious winds and a torrential downpour. I didn’t think much of it until I felt the collective stress in Terminal 3 and the frantic Delta employee announcing Hurricane Idalia’s Cat-4 status. I connect to the internet for the first time to a bombardment of “You okay?!?” messages from folks back home who still follow the emergencies of the day minute. Yeah, the rain and breeze made the temps quite nice I tell them.

It’s odd to hear English again, and to eat my first “fresh” leafy vegetables, and to have clean public restrooms with toilet paper, and to see people of diversity, and to fill my water bottle from the sink, and to see advertisements. Everywhere. My personal favorite was a flashing neon strobe light asking me to ‘follow’ the Miami International Airport on Instagram.

My flight will be one of the last to squeak by before the eye of Idalia focuses her gaze upon us. I’m going home. It feels weird to be told I need to buckle a strap around my waist when just sixteen hours earlier I stood in the back of an open-bed truck barreling down the dirt road holding a rope tied to the hood of the “taxi”. I was shoulder to shoulder with seven others whose ages spanned from seven to seventy. For the past two months, I’ve been jumping onto moving buses too efficiently to fully stop, dangling off of motorcycles, bouncing in horse carriages, and clinging to boats. Now, however, for safety reasons, I need to have my bag neatly tucked underneath my upright seat and my tray returned to its original position. Back to the land of pudgy house cats.

The headrest of the seat in front of me has an LED screen that proudly boasts Delta’s slogan: “Everything you need. All in one place.” I congratulate Delta for its succinct diagnosis and summary of the root of the problem that permeates the collective psyche of us domesticated Americans. A flight attendant passes out earbuds to anyone who wants them for free. Cuba is but a stone's throw away and life’s realities have alchemized from one of ‘no food’ to that of ‘single-use headphones’ in the snap of an economic finger.

The plastic bag enveloping the headphones reads, in large text: “Plug in and tune out.” I laugh audibly. I couldn’t, in a million years, think of a better antithesis to everything I believe to be true. I contemplate, for fun, complaining to the flight attendant why my headphones aren’t Bluetooth but moral discernment gets the better of me. I open the plastic bag, remove the rubber wires, and do what the text instructs me to do.

The Breakfast Club is on demand and I’m only human.

In the Miami airport. Despite the fact my passport expires in eleven days and the mandate that passports have a six month expiration buffer, the militaristic lady at customs lets me pass. She asks me what I did for two months and I tell her, well, I cruised. She is confused but my skin color, confidence, and charm nip her questions in the bud. Flights are delayed and I learn that a storm blankets the Southern US and Caribbean seas. It makes sense to me— this morning I walked to the airport in ferocious winds and a torrential downpour. I didn’t think much of it until I felt the collective stress in Terminal 3 and the frantic Delta employee announcing Hurricane Idalia’s Cat-4 status. I connect to the internet for the first time to a bombardment of “You okay?!?” messages from folks back home who still follow the emergencies of the day minute. Yeah, the rain and breeze made the temps quite nice I tell them.

It’s odd to hear English again, and to eat my first “fresh” leafy vegetables, and to have clean public restrooms with toilet paper, and to see people of diversity, and to fill my water bottle from the sink, and to see advertisements. Everywhere. My personal favorite was a flashing neon strobe light asking me to ‘follow’ the Miami International Airport on Instagram.

My flight will be one of the last to squeak by before the eye of Idalia focuses her gaze upon us. I’m going home. It feels weird to be told I need to buckle a strap around my waist when just sixteen hours earlier I stood in the back of an open-bed truck barreling down the dirt road holding a rope tied to the hood of the “taxi”. I was shoulder to shoulder with seven others whose ages spanned from seven to seventy. For the past two months, I’ve been jumping onto moving buses too efficiently to fully stop, dangling off of motorcycles, bouncing in horse carriages, and clinging to boats. Now, however, for safety reasons, I need to have my bag neatly tucked underneath my upright seat and my tray returned to its original position. Back to the land of pudgy house cats.

The headrest of the seat in front of me has an LED screen that proudly boasts Delta’s slogan: “Everything you need. All in one place.” I congratulate Delta for its succinct diagnosis and summary of the root of the problem that permeates the collective psyche of us domesticated Americans. A flight attendant passes out earbuds to anyone who wants them for free. Cuba is but a stone's throw away and life’s realities have alchemized from one of ‘no food’ to that of ‘single-use headphones’ in the snap of an economic finger.

The plastic bag enveloping the headphones reads, in large text: “Plug in and tune out.” I laugh audibly. I couldn’t, in a million years, think of a better antithesis to everything I believe to be true. I contemplate, for fun, complaining to the flight attendant why my headphones aren’t Bluetooth but moral discernment gets the better of me. I open the plastic bag, remove the rubber wires, and do what the text instructs me to do.

The Breakfast Club is on demand and I’m only human.

In the Miami airport. Despite the fact my passport expires in eleven days and the mandate that passports have a six month expiration buffer, the militaristic lady at customs lets me pass. She asks me what I did for two months and I tell her, well, I cruised. She is confused but my skin color, confidence, and charm nip her questions in the bud. Flights are delayed and I learn that a storm blankets the Southern US and Caribbean seas. It makes sense to me— this morning I walked to the airport in ferocious winds and a torrential downpour. I didn’t think much of it until I felt the collective stress in Terminal 3 and the frantic Delta employee announcing Hurricane Idalia’s Cat-4 status. I connect to the internet for the first time to a bombardment of “You okay?!?” messages from folks back home who still follow the emergencies of the day minute. Yeah, the rain and breeze made the temps quite nice I tell them.

It’s odd to hear English again, and to eat my first “fresh” leafy vegetables, and to have clean public restrooms with toilet paper, and to see people of diversity, and to fill my water bottle from the sink, and to see advertisements. Everywhere. My personal favorite was a flashing neon strobe light asking me to ‘follow’ the Miami International Airport on Instagram.

My flight will be one of the last to squeak by before the eye of Idalia focuses her gaze upon us. I’m going home. It feels weird to be told I need to buckle a strap around my waist when just sixteen hours earlier I stood in the back of an open-bed truck barreling down the dirt road holding a rope tied to the hood of the “taxi”. I was shoulder to shoulder with seven others whose ages spanned from seven to seventy. For the past two months, I’ve been jumping onto moving buses too efficiently to fully stop, dangling off of motorcycles, bouncing in horse carriages, and clinging to boats. Now, however, for safety reasons, I need to have my bag neatly tucked underneath my upright seat and my tray returned to its original position. Back to the land of pudgy house cats.

The headrest of the seat in front of me has an LED screen that proudly boasts Delta’s slogan: “Everything you need. All in one place.” I congratulate Delta for its succinct diagnosis and summary of the root of the problem that permeates the collective psyche of us domesticated Americans. A flight attendant passes out earbuds to anyone who wants them for free. Cuba is but a stone's throw away and life’s realities have alchemized from one of ‘no food’ to that of ‘single-use headphones’ in the snap of an economic finger.

The plastic bag enveloping the headphones reads, in large text: “Plug in and tune out.” I laugh audibly. I couldn’t, in a million years, think of a better antithesis to everything I believe to be true. I contemplate, for fun, complaining to the flight attendant why my headphones aren’t Bluetooth but moral discernment gets the better of me. I open the plastic bag, remove the rubber wires, and do what the text instructs me to do.

The Breakfast Club is on demand and I’m only human.