I’m flying Delta, seated in a middle seat—and I’m not complaining one bit. The seats are comfortable, and I’m genuinely enjoying this flight. I’ve never been able to sleep on planes, but I’m savoring the quiet and the solitude. I had avocado toast, a latte, and three little travel-sized bags of SunChips, and I feel content. My three colleagues are somewhere on the plane, and I’m in row 23, taking a mental break from everything. I’m happy I got to watch endless episodes of the KATSEYE documentary.
I think it’s wise to step away from everything and everyone sometimes—and return stronger. I have three days off from flight attendant school, and I can focus on everything I need to prepare for OE.
During these three days, I want to reset. I’ll fast lightly—just breakfast and one healthy, low-calorie meal. I’ll work out. I’ll wash my hair and wear it down—maybe just mousse and gel. I’ll study from noon until night. Mornings will be for self-care; evenings will be for reviewing everything I’ve packed so I’m ready if I’m called to fly unexpectedly.
After reviewing my schedule, it looks like I may be contactable Wednesday evening through Thursday morning (6:30 p.m. to 8:30 a.m.), then rest Thursday (8:30 a.m. to 8:30 p.m.), and then possibly fly again Friday morning through Saturday morning (8:30 a.m. to 7:55 a.m.). It’s called a contactable period.
Hours have passed.
I’m waiting for Shervy—he’s traveling to see me. I’m so happy to see a familiar face. When I deplaned with my colleagues, I felt unexpectedly sad. I was in my second home, yet I couldn’t see him. I really want to see him.
I waited politely as we exited the aircraft one by one. John first, then Teresa, then Alex. I truly like each of them, but I sense distance—especially from Alex. I urgently needed the restroom after landing, and Alex immediately began arranging the shuttle. There was a restroom just a few feet away, but Teresa insisted we go to baggage claim first. My bladder was nearly bursting, but I humbly agreed.
I even pointed toward baggage claim, but Teresa told me I was going the wrong way. Though the sign clearly read “Baggage Claim,” I chose peace over being right. After walking about 500 feet in the wrong direction, someone else pointed out the same sign I’d seen earlier. I felt frustrated—ignored—but instead of reacting, I followed quietly.
My bag came out first. I asked if anyone else needed the restroom. Alex softly said she did but didn’t want to go with me, so I went alone. She entered as I was leaving. I offered to wait; she told me to wait by Teresa. I still waited outside for her, but when she came out, she walked quickly back to the group without me. There was a clear uneasiness between us.
We stood like strangers—after five weeks together at the Hyatt House Miami Airport. I asked her something—I can’t even remember what—but her response was nonchalant and cold. I could tell she wanted nothing to do with me. Still, I’m practicing not overanalyzing. Not caring so much what others think.
When we regrouped, they walked ahead and left me behind. John slowed briefly to wait for me; I thanked him, and he quickly rejoined the others.
Outside, I was grateful for the Los Angeles weather. I love Los Angeles. It’s where I spend so much of my career.
Everyone but me searched for the shuttle. They looked lost. John called crew scheduling but struggled with directions. I called the hotel—no shuttle information. Teresa called scheduling again. Eventually, John called the president, and a manager arranged the shuttle.
“What number did you call?” I asked John. Silence. I asked again. “It doesn’t matter—they didn’t answer,” he snapped.
That stung. “Didn’t you just speak to someone?” I asked. Teresa clarified: it was crew scheduling again, and you need to save the number and enter code 747400 for someone to answer.
“Thank you,” I replied. My stomach tightened. I sensed impatience all around. I put on my sunglasses and suggested we sit inside away from the noise.
“Let’s sit here,” Alex said—as if it were her idea.
I asked if everyone was okay before stepping away to refill my water bottle. I called Shervy for calm in the chaos, forgetting it was early for him.
“Are you still asleep?” I asked.
“What time is it? 9:20? No, I’m up,” he mumbled.
I gave him a brief rundown and told him I’d call later. I was more upset than I realized. Maybe the root of my frustration is that I truly am new. This was my first time traveling with experienced flight attendants and a seasoned travel agent.
Finally, the shuttle arrived. “You’re keeping your bag with you?” Alex asked.
“Yes. I like to keep it close,” I replied.
I sat in the back. John joined me after Alex offered the front seat to Teresa. He talks loudly and quickly—it’s just how he is—and my stomach churned as conversation exploded around me. They talked about never sleeping and exploring nonstop. I’m the opposite. I value rest. Health. Longevity.
My stomach pains increased as I thought about the last six weeks—little sleep, poor eating, constant stress, exams, drills… and my drunken embarrassment last Sunday. I still don’t remember everything. I was told I was on the elevator floor, refusing to leave someone’s room, making calls, repeating private conversations. That part hurts most.
In the van, it felt like an elephant sat among us while everyone performed surface-level chatter. I crave transparency. I value honesty—the kind where what you see is what you get.
When we reached the hotel, I told them to go without me. “My stomach hurts. I’m going to nap,” I said. And I meant it.
I slept for an hour and a half. They texted that they were meeting downstairs and were gone for hours. I don’t feel I missed anything.
I talked with my dad, unpacked, convinced Shervy to drive three hours to see me, and now I’m lying in bed with a clay mask. I ordered a burger and watched Emily in Paris.
I hope I work with Darren Star one day. His writing has carried me through so much. I’ve watched Sex and the City countless times, explored Younger, and now I’m loving Emily in Paris. He excels at episodic storytelling, but I dream of films. Maybe one day he’ll create a movie franchise with a character as beloved as Bridget Jones. I would love that—and music too. I want this life so badly.
Sometimes I feel guilty for resting. Lying in bed, full from dinner, doing nothing “productive.” My mind whispers, You should be studying. And I will. I just needed to talk to You first.
When Shervy arrives, I’ll put on something cute and meet him downstairs—maybe by the pool. I want to swim. Then come back up, condition my hair, study. Maybe roller-set it and study more. Or go to the gym first. Or explore the hotel. Or the city.
I love being alone. I love eating alone. I love not having to share my bed. I love not being forced to cook. I love my independence—and the occasional comfort of those who truly know me. I want to be loved deeply, but I’m learning the world doesn’t always love gently.
Seeing how Jim treated Teresa at the end of our trip unsettled me. It revealed something I can’t unsee. Still, I’m grateful for my group—Alex, John, and Teresa. I believe You placed us together intentionally. My room is exactly what I need in this season. The view of the city is beautiful. The day is beautiful.
Shervy just texted—twenty minutes away (which probably means thirty or forty). Thank You for him. Bless him. Guide him.
I’m going to wear a white T-shirt, baggy cargo pants, black tennis shoes, and my gray hoodie. Hair down. Maybe just a touch of makeup. I love California so much—but home is where my parents are.
Thank You for everything unfolding in my life. My colleagues just invited me to see the sunset. I said yes. I’m about to shower.
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