Dearest,

I buckled my safety belt and straightened my seat in anticipation of the air stewardess walking down the aisle to check our cabin was ready for take-off. As you very well know, my teacher’s pet mentality bears an ugly head at such moments and I even slid my blanket away, just to receive that cursory nod which in my mind translates into, ‘you are a star passenger’. I was wedged between two women and after a polite smile of acknowledgment, looked straight ahead onto the mini screen flickering with duty-free advertisements. I plugged my ear buds in, whilst scrolling through the in-flight film options, and prepared myself to discreetly ignore the safety announcements before take-off.

A commanding female voice disrupted my quiet rebellion with the request to flight AA2419 passengers to give her undivided attention for the impending safety instructions. On her persistence, I reluctantly took off the earplugs and pretended to listen, all the while deciding on whether to watch a film or read my new book. She craftily began her monologue with humour, informing us that it was a new aircraft acquired by American Airlines and our extreme luck at flying in this particular metal bird. We collectively chuckled to humour the omnipresent figure.

She passed on the baton to her fellow flight staff, and they continued to guide us through the safety instructions with a mime and a video. I was listening with a detached interest, until the following words were mechanically announced:

“…in the unlikely event of an emergency landing and evacuation, leave your personal belongings behind”.

Personal belongings. Personal belongings. Personal belongings.

My brain slowed down as I chewed these two words in my mouth.

Belongings, personal to me.

I did a quick inventory of my ‘personal belongings’:

Phone adorned with museum entry stickers and filled with photos of loved ones,

Pair of brown leather loafers purchased with my first paycheque,

Black handbag a generous present from doting aunty uncle,

Grey coat folded and placed in the compartment above,

Passport and wallet shoved in the front seat pocket,

Lavender branches carefully wrapped in red paper,

Leather pouch containing my precious heirlooms,

Newly acquired copy of Adichie’s Americanah,

Thank you cards,

Etc.

I panicked.

What will I leave behind?

What do I need in case of an emergency? Does it depend on the emergency?

Maybe, I can sneak in my grandmother’s earrings?

Is my passport excluded from ‘personal belongings’ list? Surely, it comes under ‘necessary’ items? How will I identify myself? Will my fingerprints come in handy?

 I must take my phone with me! I will need to inform my mother where I am ‘in case of an emergency’. I can lend my phone to other estranged passengers, as well.

My sturdy shoes are flat and I am certain the heel will not pierce the parachute material of the float, right?

I have written notes on the first few chapters of my book. I will be devastated to be parted with my new literary friend.

I was entranced with the idea of personal belongings at that moment in time, as flight AA2419 took off and was smoothly airborne within minutes.

In unabashed honesty, I admitted to myself.

I was whole because of the sum of my various material possessions. My identity in this modern age was moulded with the items I possessed. I was comfortably flying alone, because of the safety blanket knitted together with the constant reminder of my loved ones.

I belonged to my personal belongings. I was owned by their presence in my life.

I was not a refugee. I was not being forced to leave my home. My country was not blazing with war and strife.

As that sickening realisation seeped into my brain, I compared my current flight to a refugee’s journey from the mouth of a burning home to the feet of unknown destination.

What will I take with me when I get the call to run? Air bloated with expectant war drones and firing missiles, which ‘personal belonging’ will I save?

The necessary or the sentimental?