6/23/2023 0 Comments Isplash bathing suits![]() What I want to tell him: I danced salsa, and I ate street tacos, and I sang songs with some guy named Billy outside of an ex-pat bar at 2 a.m., and I watched the sun rise, and I floated on my back in the sea in the middle of January and it was one of those rare moments that didn’t need time or distance to assign proper meaning I was so happy and grateful right then and there and I think saltwater might be the strongest antidote to anxiety don’t you agree? Maybe I’ve been a little sad and a little heartbroken for a really long time and maybe you think that’s lame and cliché, and I know the Riviera Maya isn’t exactly Bali, and I’m no Liz Gilbert, but it was the cheapest, warmest location I could afford with my credit card points and sometimes you have to jump on a plane with no agenda and a very light bag and honestly, I think I could have stayed there for weeks, or months, maybe, sustaining myself on cheap tequila, and free sunshine, and the kindness of strangers. What I want to tell him: I hadn’t left the country in 15 months, and I think I lost myself in a relationship, and I wanted to do something that was just for me, you know? I just turned 32, and that somehow feels so much older than 31, and I thought if I could sit on a beach in January like I’ve always wanted to, then maybe I could hold on to that memory for the rest of the year. HCBPG: Went to Cancún all by yourself, huh? “Hey,” I muster, void of the charming standup routine I’d typically employ in this kind of situation. “Hi there,” he says calmly, smiling, as his eyes scan my passport and my body. A handsome CBP officer with a square jaw and blue eyes is motioning me toward his booth. I feel for my passport and triumphantly extricate it from my backpack. Oh, I guess I flew from Cancún,” I laugh a little. I know that my backpack contains exactly three bathing suits, lip gloss, sandals, and a dress I bought from a sweet street vendor who told me, “pink is your color.” But when an airport security person is running toward you after you’ve just returned from Mexico, when your skin is even browner than usual, when you’re hungover and emotionally fragile, you start to wonder, “ Am I smuggling drug money in my bra?” She’s shouting, “Ma’am, MA’AM! Where is your passport? Show me your passport! Where are you coming from?” In fact, there is not another human in sight. ![]() It’s then that I realize that every passenger on my flight has already passed through. ![]() I emerge from the toilets and head toward Customs and Border Protection. I splash water on my face, sniff my armpit (foul), and give my reflection a nod. Despite puffy eyelids and day-old mascara clumps, I realize I haven’t cried in the past 72 hours. Considering my battered state in front of the mirror, I run my fingers across streaks of sunburn on my chest and through sand baked into my unwashed, salty hair. We land at Newark Liberty International Airport, and I duck into the bathroom. ![]() Sunrise in Playa del Carmen, January 2023
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |