Sunday afternoon's wedding party, and KMTN

It was a fair Sunday afternoon in May. The day when Ann set for her wedding party. Her colleagues, friends, lab mentors, co-workers, parents, were all invited, and most of them showed up. Me included. Kids in the party were having a good time with the magicians hired to entertaining the guests. Old people sitting at the edge of the crowds, chatting incoherantly. Not used to the crowd, as always, I joined the old geezers’bullshit rally. Ten minutes turned to 15; 15 minutes turned to an hour. Finally someone need to leave early. Soon after, I followed him and excused myself from the joyous atmosphere.

I am forever in debt to Ann. At the worst time in my doctoral student year, the thought of quitting assaulted every cubic inch of my faculty daily. One day Ann pulled me over from the hallway and said: ”Jack, you are a grown man. You can do whatever your heart’s desire. If you quit now, you get the instaneous relief. But are you gonna spend the rest of your life explaining why you did not finish your Ph.D. every time people look at your resume?”

OK, you are right, miss. So I took her words and stayed put. Between then and this party, we went out a few times. Just a few movies, a concert. The clarity of those casual dating was as vague as yesterday’s breakfast manu. The reality was, she was already a pulmonary specialist in training, while I was still somewhere in my life and in this new country, trying to find my way arond. We tried, and it did not work out. Even so, we are still friends. Friends who don’t prod on others’ privacy.

Sitting in the car outside the party, the afternoon sun ray scattered through the windshield, and reminded me the weather was so mild and lovely. I showed up here, giving her my final blessing, sending her off to her new life. I heard she is heading to West Coast. Maybe having a few kids a few years down the road. That’s all fine. Truly wishing her the best. But where should I go from here?

“Don’t you always want to fly the airplane since you were a kid?” A small voice sheepishly emerged from the bak of my head. So I turned the car ingition key. The next thing I knew, I was already hunching on the fence by the runway of KMTN, watching the aircraft taking off, landing, and touch-and-go.

Just let every single takeoff bit farewell to my sorrow past, and let every landing in the sunset bring in bits of hope from above.

“Clear Props!”

So here we go: run-up, taxi, in sequence, and clear to take off.

And life is good again.