Sneezing so Much part 2 in who knows me better than myself?

 Dear Father,

thank you, thank you, thank you for not allowing me to see or hear any mice. I keep seeing mice feces—but not one mouse…until two days ago. It was AWFUL—literally mice feces everywhere: behind my stove, behind my fridge, in my closets, on the floor, in my dresser drawers. I’m upset because it makes me sneeze so much that I practically ran to my parents’ house to sleep over there instead…

Hours have passed… and now I’m in the guest bedroom of my parents’ house. It was 11pm when I went to bed, and now it’s 4 hours later. I guess I had so much on my mind that I needed to talk to You badly at 3am.

Yesterday, while in bed at my apartment, I wrote Guy via email. I never met Guy in person, but I met him through the phone line while I worked for Amazon during COVID. Just for reference, Guy called me for a refund, and I was having a bad day…or maybe he was having a bad day. Even though he was calling for a refund, he told me he had cancer. He had lung cancer because of smoking too much. I was in the thick of smoking weed. I was deep in my addiction and so lost. Anyways, long story short, we both decided to smoke and then quit together—except he quit, and I continued smoking.

He died not long after our pact. Before he died, he sent me a diamond necklace, which I forgot at home…oh no! I just realized I left my diamond at home!!!!! Will it still be there when I return??? Oh Lord! Please let it be there when I return!!! Oh my goodness—the maintenance men will be in my apartment. Please let Guy’s necklace still be there when I get back. I could cry right now. It’s the only thing I have of him besides the memories I had of talking to him—which are blurry, because I was always smoking. Oh Father, please let my necklace still be there. I didn’t realize until now. I could literally cry. I will ask my dad to get my necklace for me from my place. Problem solved.

Deep breaths…everything is going to be okay. It’s just a necklace. I’ll be okay. Guy is in heaven now.

Back to my story—I prayed to him yesterday…via email. I cried to Guy and asked him if You ever let him be my guardian angel. I cried to him a lot in that email. I don’t remember what I said, but afterwards I erased the email. Not sure why I deleted the entire message, but I fell quickly to sleep afterwards.

I just hate that I live with mice. However, I’m so grateful that I never saw any alive. Mostly they were in traps. A baby mouse was found in my stove. A roof rat—a rat, not a mouse—was found in the corner of my apartment. Lord, give me strength, Heavenly Father.

But that’s not the reason I’m upset…it’s only part of the reason. I overthink things—almost to a point where it gives me high stress or anxiety…the kind where I wake up at 3:30am and NEED TO SPEAK TO YOU ABOUT IT.

In a few hours, I’ll be going to Honolulu, Guam, then Australia. My job is bringing me to these places. I’m not sure what to do, really. I’m not sure how to feel. I’m excited…yet scared. I will not have fear—I will rely on You alone.

But I’ll be seeing all the girls from my class who don’t like me. Jillian didn’t like me, and she poisoned the minds of those girls…including my roommate. Then my roommate from aviation became two-faced and made those other girls not like me. It’s so high school.

Jillian, the ringleader of them all, went home for the final exam. Shocked everyone. But for me…I had this calmness. I truly wasn’t sad or glad—I felt indifferent. Everyone else was really sad. Truly. They couldn’t even celebrate their own victory of passing their final exam. (But not me—hehe.)

Now Jillian is no longer with the graduating class, but she left me with my roommate, who I no longer talk to, my classmates who choose to stay away from me, and…well, there’s nothing left for me to say.

I’m seeing Karla (who’s actually in her twenties, not thirties), Amara (who I arrived on the same plane with and who got me tipsy on the first day—it was a fun tipsy), Tee—a fellow hometown girl who’s never done anything wrong to me and I love her, but we are very different people, mostly because she’s literally half my age—and last but not least, Teresa. She, Alex, and John were constantly around each other and exploring while I was resting and studying in Riverside, CA. I don’t regret studying because I passed…with flying colors!!

Thank you, God. Thank you for everything, Father.

Now I’m sleeping in my parents’ guest room while I’m praying to You.

I have anxiety about seeing those girls again. I even left the group chat while in Riverside, CA! I just did my own thing. I’m on a different path. For them, this is their new career for life. For me—it’s my stepping stone to seeing the world, traveling on my own, learning different cultures, becoming truly independent, and being able to treat my parents.

I’m planning to take them to our favorite city. I’m getting a hotel for two days, and we’re flying to where my parents grew up and where I was born. I’m getting my dad a window seat, my mom a middle seat, and my dad an aisle seat. Then we are going to our favorite place in the world. I’ll mostly stay in the hotel to rest while they explore the city. I’ll probably go out in the mornings with them…but mostly I’ll be resting. Then maybe I’ll go to the Ace Hotel to see if I can perform a few songs. I’ll learn something new and special—but I don’t know what yet.

My mom really loves American Idol. I think I should start watching it too. I think I need to start practicing more and more. I think it’s time to get back with Colleen and Tom. I’ll reach out to them today. I need to get back into the rhythm of learning new songs and memorizing lyrics quickly. I don’t want to compete on a television show. Aviation school already felt like one.

That school felt just like American Idol without having to sing in front of millions. It was more like behind-the-scenes of a television school. Some people just had it, and others had to work hard for it. I’m the one who has to work hard. Nothing seems to come easy for me. I never had anything handed to me. I studied hard, got made fun of by my peers, was called a ditz and told I lived in la-la land, was shunned from most, and left with no support when I needed it in the last quarter…it was just You and me, God…

Hours and hours have now passed… and I’m now sitting at the foot of one of my pursers. I’m at the airport, and I saw the three colleagues who shunned me away. I walked up to them and said:

“Hey, I know we’ve had our differences, but I would like to bury the hatchet and move forward in a professional manner. After all, it is the safety of the passengers that matters most. I’m not sure what I did to you, but you can each individually come up to me and we can talk about it. I’m more than open to hearing what you have to say.”

They said the reason they shunned me away was because when I got drunk in Cincinnati, I didn’t acknowledge their help. I told them I was blacked out and couldn’t remember anything. I could not acknowledge or thank anyone if I could not remember. I told them that I quit drinking and smoking for good. One looked down and said she had already smoked. The other two looked like they were ready to have a drink as soon as they touched down in Honolulu.

My dad said I should have thanked them right then and there for helping me instead of trying to explain that I was blacked out. What do You think, God? I did say thank you (I think). Who knows if I did or didn’t…but I feel like they didn’t care either way. They are all standing next to each other on one side of the gate exit, and I’m here sitting next to my purser, writing to You…as multiple people in the airport walk around me while I sit on the ground.

It’s now an hour later…I was lucky enough to board the plane first, after wheelchair assistance. I was standing with I.C.E. at the beginning of the line—at least I believe they were I.C.E. They had green signs that said “deportation” on them. Three men and one woman all had the same deportation badge. All retired police officers that find people who need to be deported, then make sure they board the plane, and they do not leave until the plane doors are locked and sealed. For some reason, they said they do not take the flight with them, which was odd. Instead, they stay until the plane doors are locked.

“We’ve been here since 2am!” a very tall man said.

Then I started talking to the Hispanic man. “Is your job hard?”

“Not at all!” he exclaimed, as he looked slightly up to the tall man.

“Just the waiting is hard,” answered the tall man.

Then the woman of the group went to check on the flight status and came back and told the group it would be a few more minutes.

The Hispanic man said, “You can get on the plane with us. We’re going to be the first on the plane. You can beat the line with us.”

I looked around and saw loads and loads of people waiting to board the same plane. I thought about it and said to myself that would be a bad idea. Instead, I walked up to the gate counter and asked when I could board. They told me I could board right after wheelchair service—that seemed like a much more comfortable option.

Right before they left, we all chatted a bit more. I told them what I was doing there. The Hispanic man mentioned that he had a daughter in the military and that he was expecting his third grandchild soon. The woman asked again, “Are you sure you don’t want to go in with us? It’s no issue!” But I said, “No, I will go in shortly afterwards.”

When the gate counter called all personnel and military after wheelchair service, another retired officer walked in front of me. He was helping a random lady in a wheelchair who was left behind and needed assistance boarding the plane. I knew he was a retired officer because I asked him if he was military.

“No, I am a retired officer, and we need more kindness in this world,” he stated.

Then immediately afterward, he directed his attention to a man limping with crutches while his wife looked back at him, yards ahead. “Looks like she has a leg up on you,” the retired cop joked. I laughed along innocently.

“Yeah, yeah, she sure does,” the man answered.

It’s now the next day—the first morning of me being in Hawaii. I was on FaceTime with my dad. We went over my flight schedule change, so now instead of leaving at 10pm from Honolulu, we leave at 4am. That’s such a blessing—more time to study!!! I want to be the best at what I do.

You know what I like about this job most? I can be a purser. It doesn’t matter that I’ve never managed before or been a lead at any job. What matters is that I know my job. And I want to know my job to the best of my ability.

I met my two pursers on my flight—Forrest, whom I gave my seat up for prior to boarding. He’s about 6’3, with a Santa Claus belly and skinny legs. He seems very chill…his lazy beard gives it away. And Kendall—she looks like she’s in her thirties, with porcelain skin she probably burned at the beach already, and jet-black hair. She calls everyone “sister” and “brother,” which I like. Because at the end of the day, we are all God’s children, and we are supposed to love each other as such.

I think about the hatred people have for me. My dad says a lion doesn’t care about what sheep say or turn around to barking dogs. But I slightly care…when I saw Amara, Karla, Tee, Hayley, and Teresa, I thought: each of these women spoke badly about me at least once…at least. And definitely some more than others. But it was the ones I thought I would be closest to who hurt me most.

There was a man named Jim who I absolutely loved in class. I hugged him all the time. At the very end, when I needed him most, he left me high and dry. I asked him about the OE, and you know what he said? “I don’t remember.” He remembered the test—we all remember our OE—he just chose not to help me. And that’s fine. That’s his decision. But it hurt me because I thought he was a friend.

Teresa is an older woman in her late 40s or early 50s…she should have known better. She went around town with the younger group and listened to my old roommate say things behind my back. I’m assuming she just listened. I don’t see her as someone who wanted to step up and play a motherly role or speak to me directly. Instead, she followed the group and let my old roommate talk negatively about me without ever standing up for me. Not that she had to…but it would have been nice.

Amara, of all people—I divulged secrets to her about my dreams. I told her not to share them and to keep them between us. She did the complete opposite. One drunken night, she called me out in front of everyone: “You don’t even want to be a flight attendant! You’re a singer!”

And on top of that, she called Jillian—the same girl she claimed she hated—to talk more negatively about me, loudly, in front of my colleagues.

And Alex, my roommate—she hurt me the most. She should have known me best because she lived with me for two months. She made fun of how I stored food in the fridge and called me “frugal” like it was a bad thing. She made people not like me by speaking negatively about me and making them feel sorry that she had to live with me. She constantly told me how people asked her what it was like to be my roommate…what kind of question is that?

And Tee—the fellow hometown girl—said she was mad at me too. I asked her why. She said because I told Hayley thank you for taking care of me when I was drunk in Cincinnati—and not her.

Excuse me?!?! You mean to tell me you stopped liking me because I didn’t say thank you?! I was incoherent—I didn’t even know you were there! You mean you joined the group of girls who don’t like me after nearly two months of going through a grueling class together—all over one simple thank you?

…It was in that moment I knew—these girls will never accept me. I don’t need them.