Arrivals

​LAX is quiet than I had ever seen it. It's nice, peaceful. The long hallways feel endless but this time I don't mind it so much. I don't rush like I normally do. There's nothing to rush for, it seems. 
I don't get lost on my way to immigration control, it's like my feet are leading me to the next destination, they know where to go. They had been here before. While I? I am still somewhere up in the sky in between countries, floating in airplane mode, between time zones, enjoying being in between worlds. 

The immigration officer asks me to take off my hat and mask, well - my TWO masks, as she pushes a button to snap a picture. A picture that would soon be added to the worst collection of headshots the world has ever seen. Mug shots are better than these pictures, probably. Definitely. 

STAMP! I get a stamp in my passport and continue on my way. No questions about my whereabouts in the last fourteen days, no questioning me if I have any symptoms. No one checks my temperature. The US couldn't care less if one would have Covid and enter the states. It's almost as if she - the USA - is self aware after all. 

One last socially distanced stressful ride at the airport shuttle, and we are off to an Uber. Our driver is wearing gloves along with his mask. That's pretty cool. I am thinking how different this is from Sayulita. No one would even THINK of wearing gloves. The mask is a stretch there as it is. 
The streets of Venice are empty as our Uber driver, John, drives us through. We both notice the stark difference between the sleepy somber yet peaceful reality in Los Angeles during this era, and the vivacious lively vibe in Sayulita's city center. 

We arrive. It's cozy. The cats greet us 'Hello' almost immediately. We move on to work almost immediately, but taking in sighs of relief to be where we are now, the last stop on our journey away from home - HOME.