Today I am crossing the ocean to see you. My heart is confused and scared and still, more than a year later, in remission. I knew what a risk looked like. This is clearly a risk.

I added Yogyakarta to the itinerary even after you’ve said that you weren’t keen to see it. You’ve seen it before, but I have not, and I did not want this trip to be all about you. Or about us. So tonight, I fly myself to Java.

Two plane rides. How is it that this feels normal now? Plane rides used to be a novelty. I’m not quite the frequent traveler I pretend to be, but still, I take to riding this plane the same way I take to the monotony of riding trains on my daily commute to work.

A direct flight from Manila to Jakarta will only take about 208 minutes. One from Manila to Bali will take 198 minutes. It’s a ten minute difference, but in this case, it will take longer. Much longer. More than a full day will pass as I take my detour.

MLA. CGK. JOG. DPS. More airports. And more airspaces. In the airspace between Manila and Bali, I will think of you. And in all the in-betweens. In between dates. In between times. I wait patiently–and then not–until I meet you.

There was one moment more than a year ago that I remember vividly. I stood on the ledge of a tall building. A person counted me down. And at the end, when the numbers had run out, I closed my eyes and I jumped.

This—what I am doing today—it feels a lot like that.

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