Valencia: The Start Of Everything

On January 23, 2018, I boarded a plane bound for Valencia.

After bidding farewell to my father at the high-speed rail station, I dragged a suitcase nearly as tall as me. As I said goodbye and turned around, tears started flowing uncontrollably. I remember crying all the way from Chiayi station to Taoyuan, and even when I boarded the plane, I was still crying. The Boeing 787 flew to Valencia with a layover in Turkey. The people around me were all part of a Taiwanese tour group heading to Istanbul for sightseeing. A mother next to me noticed how heartbroken I was and handed me a tissue.

At the age of 20, I had never flown alone before. I fastened my seatbelt, the wheels retracted, and the engines roared loudly. The takeoff was turbulent, and it was at that moment I realized that I couldn't turn back. The flight attendants of Turkish Airlines were presentable but unfriendly. I didn't drink the Raki recommended by the stranger next to me. I had heard that Turkish coffee is powerful, but my tears had already diluted it. Later, I asked for a glass of homemade lemonade. After landing, there was an 18-hour layover. The high-altitude pressure felt like the entire universe was squeezing out all my tears.

For the first time, I understood and felt true loneliness.

In the night sky tens of thousands of feet above ground, I was going abroad for a year, all alone. I felt anxious, uneasy, and fearful, but there was no turning back.

At that time, I never imagined how drastic the changes would be after a year. The future me was unexpectedly strong beyond imagination, traveling to places I never thought of, and finding a sense of belonging.

It all started on the flight to Valencia, 2018.