Should I miss my flight? Was it intentional? I do not know. My subconscious seems to often deceive me- ordering acts as if they were unintentional. Yet today, I feel as if it was, in fact, with purpose. Perhaps because I do not wish to go. To leave would mean to return somewhere else. And that in turn, would imply a home. That, which I say to myself, I do not own, nor have I settled somewhere alone. I’m in a strange situation, if I stay, I must eventually go. But if I go, I mightn’t return. Hereby I propose this singular thought: missing flights is a provocative business. Either you do so with purpose, or you flaunt excessive time to no avail. A missed flight is both a missed opportunity and a mission for eternity. Do I wish to stay, or do I wish to go? That is the question which awaits a decision; with me, the sole bearer of purpose and opportunity.
If it were truly up to me, I’d miss every flight. Only then do you know how you stand, how you bare witness to each and every city you visit. Do you wish to stay or long to leave? That is the question that bares justice to an opinion on the city that you currently stay in. And only then can you truly determine how you feel. How you judge the place you leave and the place you go. So I ask myself, one last time, is it worth staying? If it is, then the city does itself justice, if it isn’t, then there are many more factors to consider. Both for your future, and for the place you call home. So on-board the flight, I must go. I realise just now, as I miss my flight, that I do actually miss home; so home I must go.