Independent girl

The past week marks my first travel alone. 

To be honest, I was very anxious the week prior to the trip. It was a mixed bag of emotions. I was scared, anxious, skeptical, yet excited of what is to come. I spent nights laying on my bed navigating New York in my mind, preempting the scenarios and even possible accidents. I constantly worry about my ability to drag a luggage and two bag packs.

I left Gage on a windy Sunday evening, bid goodbye to my only roommate who was home, and took a public bus down to the airport. My heart was pounding; I never felt like this even sitting for a paper. 

The hardest part of the trip was carrying my luggage. It was tough. Before checking in to my airbnb in NYC, I walked around several streets to find myself a decent cafe to sit. It was horrible. The neighbourhood was rather ‘rabak’ and it isn’t somewhere you would consider safe, visually. Moving from New York to DC was less challenging, though equally heart-pounding. I kept praying for safety, that my Uber would transport me properly and my bus wouldn’t crash. 

Luggage aside, I fully understood the perks of travelling alone. I could really do what I wished. I could also go wherever I liked, for periods of time that were comfortable to me. I remember sitting in a Catholic church to rest for almost 45 minutes, something that would be considered a ‘waste of time’ if I was with my friends. I could stay in museums for as long as I wished. Travelling alone wasn’t lonely. It became satisfying. Because you get to look back and say, ‘hey, I did this alone and I survived’. It also gives you the right to define yourself without looking to your friends. It gives you some sort of ‘free will’. 

After this whole trip, I guess I could officially be labeled as an independent girl. Or am I? My past week (or my entire exchange) has taught me about myself more than I have imagined. I am in fact, a pretty weak and emotional being. While paying for my Broadway tickets, one of my 100 dollar bill flew with the wind and slotted itself down the drain. I was.. speechless. I just went ‘omg, omg, omg’ with my eyes wide open while I continued to pay for my ticket. I couldn’t believe it. The wind. I spoke to a guard afterward, hoping he would provide a way to retrieve my bill. He said what’s gone is gone. I started to tear, sob, and cried. I couldn’t control it. I was this girl, standing in the middle of the crowd in Times Square, speaking to a guard and crying. My heart was entirely broken even as I thanked him and walked away. At that moment I wanted WiFi badly (lol..) so I could tell someone, anyone. I walked 4 blocks crying and wishing I could turn back time. It was then when I realised I wasn’t as strong as I thought, or as I wanted to. I broke down. At something perhaps not that worthy. It wasn’t like a life-threatening moment. Besides, I had my credit card so it wasn’t that bad. Yet the feeling of sadness engulfed me. 

Another face palm moment includes being cheated of 20 bucks. I was trying to take the Metro in DC when a man approached me trying to help. I followed his instructions, inserted a $20 bill in the machine. In the meantime, he distracted me with his fake instructions (touch the screen and wait), while he happily took the ejected $20 bill. The machine didn’t accept 20s! It took me a minute to realise I was cheated. Damn it. Felt so dumb (and heartbroken!) at that moment.

Well to be fair, an independent girl doesn’t mean she has to be happy all the time. It doesn’t mean she has to void her feelings of unpleasantness. Maybe independence doesn’t mean strong.