Aubrey Is Missing and No One Understands

4. FINAL DESTONATION

        Is this book about Aubrey or me? Gosh I've never realized how much I love talking about myself. I'm a narcissist (no I'm not). OK, so, I'll spare you all the mushy lovey-dovey details of my last hug with my family at the airport, because I'll start crying again, and I don't want to clog up my nose.

        Right. I step out of the plane, and the coolest, chilliest, most gentle, yet whooshiest breeze hit me right on the face, on the nose, and on the fricking soul. Gosh even the runway field looks gorgeous and photogenic (not really, it looks like any other runway, honestly). My inner tourist was begging to take a cringey tourist selfie, but I'd never EVER forgive myself if I do that. I will crawl into a hole and bury myself forever, yes, screw Deston, I choose the hole.

        Seeing JFK was a big leap from seeing Ahmad Yani. As someone who hasn't traveled the globe much, this place is definitely up there with Changi Airport, but then again, I've only seen five different airports around the world, so there's that.

        I, being my clueless and nervous self, just follow wherever the crowd goes. For all I know, they could all be leading me to some witch cult sacrificial ritual event thing, but hey, that's better than being an awkward, uncultured, lost lone tourist.

        I can't help but notice that I keep on calling myself a tourist. But I am in fact NOT a tourist. I am (drum roll, please) an iNtErnATioNaL sTuDEnt. Yes, see my bragging, smug smirks radiating from those words (I swear I'm not like this in real life, please be my friend).

        I walk over to take one of those luggage trolleys, then of course, take another one, because that first one had the most annoying squeaky wheels in the world. I stand along the conveyor belt, like a very tense stick, trying to blend in with the crowd. None of them are even looking at me, what am I so scared of?

        News flash, let me tell you something, OK? One, no one pays attention to whatever you're doing. Two, if you're scared someone's going to judge you for biting your nails or something, just try to convince yourself that they bite their toe nails, then you can judge them, then it'll feel even, then you don't have to be scared anymore.

        Yeah, easier said than done, I know. Once, I was eating in this restaurant in Jakarta. And this guy sitting a table across me kept on looking up from his menu, towards where I was sitting, so it looked like he was occasionally taking glances at me. Boy, did I feel incredibly uncomfortable. 

        Now listen, he could've just been taking glances at the entrance of the restaurant, maybe he was expecting someone, or MAYBE he was judging my small, little, miniature, tiny Asian eyes. And the fact of not knowing which one was true, automatically pushed me to believe the last option was correct. So, what did I do? I tried to imagine him with only one eye. Not a normal eye! It was green, covered with slimy mucus, and irritated on the edges. 

        Oh, but that wasn't so easy. So, to try to help myself, I stared at him while trying to transplant his new eyes from my imagination onto his real face. He probably got freaked out from my extremely intense glaring, and left the restaurant without ordering anything. Fine, I'm not the best tip-giving big sister figure ever, so don't listen to whatever suggestion I throw at you.

        I swear we get sidetracked too much in this book. Is this a comedy, self-help book? Are you sure this is a mystery novel? Am I sure this is a mystery novel? I don't know. Stick around to find out. Gosh I sound like some Disney Channel commercial break announcer.

        ANYWAY, I have successfully dragged all my luggage to my trolley, then I proceed to head out of the baggage reclaim area, then I take another look at the conveyor belt, see that I left one bag with an extremely sentimental item in it (a.k.a. my Chimchar plushy), run to take the bag, THEN I proceed to head out of the baggage reclaim area.

        I've never felt this unfamiliar towards a place before. Everything's made of the same stuff, but everything looks so different. I rotate my head around as I walk out into the New York shine, trying to digest as much things as possible. I can't see myself ever getting used to all this.

        "OH THERE'S MY SWEET BABY ANGEL CHEMIST!" Oh gosh, is this déjà vu?

        "Wait... Aunt Christy??" I quickly turn around to see a towering feminine figure sashaying towards me. Full on glam, pink cat eye sunglasses, bubblegum coat, ruby stilettos. If you want to know what Aunt Christy looks like, she's like that one very extra aunt, you know what I'm saying? Actually, no, I think she's an extremely rare species.

        "Your favorite aunt is here and you're not giving me a hug?" She spreads out her arms, inviting me in.

        "You know you sound exactly like my mom." I lean in to hug her. "Talk like her too."

        "That's because I AM your mom." She bursts out laughing. They even have the same type of humor. At least that means if I miss my mom, I can just pretend she's her. "I'm just kidding."

        "Ha ha ha." I let out my best sarcastic laugh. "Good one, Aunt Christy."

        "Oh, Cassie, baby." Aunt Christy furrows her brows. "How long has it been? Five years?"

        "I guess," I say without actually putting any effort to ask my brain if that's true or not. "That's when you moved out of Indonesia. Uh... I think."

        "Right... right..." She nods her head slowly. "Can't believe I've been here for half a decade."

        "Time runs faster than you, that's for sure."

        "Don't offend me!" She gracefully crosses her arms. "These heels cost more than your entire body and soul."

        "That's why I love you, Aunt Christy. I wish you're everyone's aunt, because then the world would be a better place." 

        "Just call me Christy, honey. We're only a few years apart anyway."

        "I assume by 'a few years', you meant '20 years', right?" I pull out a little mocking sneer.

        She grins at my remark and lights a cig, before signaling me to follow her to our ride. "Let's roll."