Leaving...

I had no idea how it had come to be half past two already as I tried to find a space for the last of my things in my black suitcase. The last time I had it on a scale the black, "Cellini Classic" rolling suitcase weighed just under 20kgs, but I kept stuffing in things wherever I could find the smallest gaps. Until then, I hadn't given much thought to leaving. Leaving my friends, leaving my family, my country, my culture and in essence, my life. As I zipped the case shut, it was as if my imagination dared, for the first time, to step into the vast unknown of a whole year. I was terrified.

Everything was a bit rushed and I kept going over evrything I packed in my head. "Do you want me to drive?" my mother asked. I refused. This year I was going to stand on my own two feet, make things happen for me, and I would start by driving myself to Cape Town international.

After a small drama at the check-in desk and a tense phonecall to the travel agent, I was rid of my (at that stage 26kg) case and checked in. Flight QR 583 to Heathrow, via Jo'burg and Doha, was delayed so my parents, grand-parents, brother and sister went for coffee at the pathetically small and overcrowded News Cafe. I quickly met Ingrid (my friend who was flying with me) and her cousin Lizette.

Finally, we were ready for boarding and the good-byes started. My mother promised she wouldn't cry, but as I hugged her for the last time, she had to turn away. I walked through the gate and waved one last time.

For the time, I was stupidly obsessed with breaking away, with taking the gap. Only later would I realise exactly what it felt like to feel completely alone.