My two-year-old daughter and I were traveling by ourselves.
Half an hour ago, our bird touched down Kuala Lumpur's Low Cost Carrier Terminal. The flight from Clark, Philippines was near empty. I put on my backpack, scooped Luna off her seat and stared at my roller carry on. As if to answer the question in my head, "Now how am I gonna carry that?!", a man of Indian descent voluntarily carried it for me without saying a word.
Our walk to the Sydney-bound Air Asia X was of greater distance. I reckon such planes are parked farther for they have more massive bodies. As I laboriously strode alongside fellow passengers, I perused through them before handpicking my next aid. I literally poked a tall, blond guy's Popeye-ish biceps (Probably more than I should have.) and asked with googly eyes, "Can you please help me carry my bag up the stairs?". His golden locks swayed as he nodded.
Up and away we went. Farther from my parents' gloomy farewell... And closer to the hubby's arms. We had not seen him for three weeks. At the stroke of midnight, only a few passengers stayed awake. Perhaps they waited for their pre-booked meals too. I passed out after gobbling my late dinner.
The morning after, I woke up to a view of Australia's otherworldly outback thousands of feet below. The sun was gloriously shining. It was going to be a beautiful day of reunion.
Except... The hubby didn't recognize our daughter when he saw her at the arrivals area. But that's another story for a different day.
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