It's been a week now

And finally I think I can talk about the farewell without starting to cry. And I know everybody is waiting with bated breaths to know wether I cried or not before I entered the gate.

And the answer to this is ... almost.

I was getting ready to go through the gates. And I was walking in front trying to control the tears that were already filling my eyes. When Daniel, who was walking besides me, sees the tears and says: "Awww... don't cry!" Which of course started them a bit but I managed to control them despite Daniel's insistence "Awww... don't cry!"

And I reach the gate and turn around to hug Sandra and Doris and I see that San is crying already and then of course all floodgates were open and there we were, the three of us, crying like lunatics.

And of course now that the floodgates are open I can't stop at all. And i go through customs and through airport clearance, and through the gates and I am still crying. And of course I have no tissue and the mucus flood from hell is spurting from my nose (yes, I wiped it on my pants thank you very much).

When I got on the plane my first stop was to the bathroom, where I picked up a big wad of tissue paper, because the girls had made a scrapbook for me and I knew I was going to cry. And cry I did, at every single page (pictures to come, once i find the camera cable).

This was despite the romanian couple that was sitting behind me and that was having the FIGHT FROM HELL (in romanian of course). I got to know all the private details of their life, how much they hated and despised their respective families, and how they were new immigrants, going, of all places, to Adelaide. And they fought and fought and screamed and fought and I was sure they were going to get a divorce right there and now because nobody says "death is going to de-flower your mom" (I KID YOU NOT) to somebody else and expect that somebody to be married to them after this?!!?! Right?! And I was caught in the worst of situations because I should have said something the moment i heard them speak romanian and how would it look if I said something now, three hours into their fight? And I was crying (because of the scrapbook) and angry (because of the nasty words they were saying to each other) and as such I devoured Jensen's bak kwa.

My only sweet revenge was when, before landing, I opened up charlene's box of chocolates, turned around and offered them some (in romanian). By now they were happy with each other again but the look of embarrassment (on his face) and surprise (on hers) was priceless.

And the image of sandra crying still brings tears to my eyes because it's not often that her hard shell cracks, least of all in front of so many strangers.

[and i promise, this is one of the last depressing posts]