An Epic Journey of Panic: My Flight Back to Ukraine

I knew that making my way to Ukraine at Christmastime would be no walk in the park. It actually ended up resembling a marathon in a very big park, but not a marathon where you can slow your pace and speed up at the end. No. It turned out to be a marathon based on speed as well as stealth.

Due all the festivities, rides to the airport were hard to find and I had to take a train to another town further down the coast to get one. My journey started in Folkestone when I remembered everything but my train ticket as I was walking up to the station. I missed my first train as I had to run home to retrieve my ticket; thankfully I was able to catch another train to Ashford not long after the first train I missed.

I had to switch trains with a MASSIVE 29kg bag, a rucksack and a computer bag in Ashford to the Brighton line which got me to Bexhill. Once I was on that train all was well and I had a lovely dinner with my hosts and some old family friends.

If that had been that for the evening, then that would have been tip-top. But no. I ended up unpacking and packing my bags four times to even out the weight of my bags. I spent a good hour or so contemplating how necessary it was to take 500g of parsnips that my dear mother had requested (not to mention the other 15kg or so of stuff she and the rest of my family ordered!) I managed to pack efficiently and was only 2kg over my weight allowance – it was not a problem when I go to the airport.

Paul (the guy who gave me a ride to the airport) and I left in plenty of time to get to the airport at least an hour and a half before my flight which was at 06:30am. The motorway that we were going to take was very conveniently shut at the time of night that we were travelling. I ended up arriving at the airport just after 5am completely unaware of how much time I did not have.

I struggled to self-check for about 10 minutes upon arrival. I had not put my passport on the scanner properly and panicked while the queue for checking in bags grew longer and the time on the clock drew closer to departure. Once I finally got in the queue and attached my tag to my main suitcase I was aware that the airport was having some technical issues and I was moved to another check-in counter. In front of me was a family about the size of a small tribe with so many bags I tried not to turn hysterical as time was really, really running out!

Checked in! I ran to customs. I unpacked my laptop bag and took off my coat and boots for security to scan. I walked through the arch and waddayaknow?! It beeped on me! The lady had to do a random check on me. And then something in my hand luggage looked suspicious (my pjs and a Christmas pudding?) and I had to unpack it for them to check. After an age of trying to slow my breathing down as this guy asked me to zip my bag up, I marched onward to find my gate.

I found the screen with all the plane times and gate numbers and it read “Lufthansa Flight to Frankfurt Gate B31 Now Open” so I jogged along following the signs glad that I was through customs and that I was going to make it.

Then.

The sign read, “Lufthansa Flight to Frankfurt Gate B31 Now Closing”. WHAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!? I literally ran like never before (except when I ran away from the dog during the summer. Read about that here :3). My thoughts were, “I have made it so far! I am so close! This cannot be happening!!!” I ran up and down escalators praying through hysterical pants that “LORD JESUS, MAY THE PLANE BE LATE! MAY I BE ON TIME, OH LORD!” I was on the verge of tears and probably death.

Then.

A Canadian hipster guardian angel appeared on the escalator making a run for it too. I cried out in agony (no joke. I could not breath by this point), “ARE YOU GOING TO FRANKFURT?!” And he said yes! I asked him to carry my bag for me and we ran and ran and ran and ran and...

Made it. On time. The passengers hadn't even boarded yet. I thought I was going to pass out. I needed the toilet, I needed a drink and hadn't even had time to stop and do something about it. I thought I was going to throw up but was so happy that I had made it through. I was a right sight. I had been running through the halls wailing, “No, no, no, no, this cannot be happening! Please wait for me! Please!” and now my face was red and I was soaked in sweat right to my underwear. I was furious that the airline had put an absolute untruth on the board and made me run far above a bearable rate of perceived exertion.

This was literally me standing in the queue
after almost killing myself running.

The biggest joke was that the once everyone had boarded the plane it was delayed another 25 minutes. That meant that I might or might not make my connecting flight from Frankfurt to Kiev in Ukraine. I sat through the flight trying to take in what had just happened and trying to figure out what I would do were I to miss the flight from Frankfurt to Kiev. I passed the time listening to Switchfoot and observing the man next to me (he had a beard) who sat with the crown of his head back against his seat and his mouth wide open causing him to make very loud breathing and gargling sounds as he slumbered during the flight. In fact his sleep was apparently so deep that the kindle that he was holding in his hands fell to the floor and he even didn't stir. His hands even stayed in the original holding position.

Once we arrived in Frankfurt and the captain of our plane had informed us of which gate my plane to Kiev would be taking off from, I dashed out the plane and made my way to the gate.

Then.

They made us all go through customs AGAIN. I stood in the queue with two Canadians (one of whom was the hipster guardian angel) who were literally due to fly to Canada in the next 35 minutes. By this time I had numbly accepted the fact that I had probably missed my flight to Kiev and that this could be a longer day (and maybe even night) than I had originally expected. A very nice girl from Iran chatted to me while security decided once again that the Christmas pudding in my hand luggage looked suspicious and made me unpack and pack my bag.

I thus followed the signs in a sheeplike manner to gate B27 of Terminal 1. My brain was numb, my feet felt like they were about to disintegrate under me and it was in this state that I came across a very long queue for a very late plane to Kiev, Ukraine. A boy came up to me and asked me if I spoke English and was this indeed the queue for the flight to Kiev, Borispol? “Yes,” I answered was a sign of relief. “It is indeed.”

And here I am, on the plane to Kiev, Ukraine. I am too tired to sleep. I probably have spinach in my braces because of the lunch Lufthansa provided (which was fairly decent, might I add). All I can think about now is how much I want to see my family and how much I want to give them all the stuff I lugged with me all the way across two European airports.

What have I learned from this experience? I should probably do cardio and also when flying at Christmas, don't overdo it on the little extras for the family on top of presents. Even measly parsnips. ;)

Destroying my own world single-handedly

Woah, drastic title there, eh? Well, it may seem over-the-top but the last two weeks I have watched myself scrumple all the happy things in my life either into non-existence, so that I forget about them, or into ugly balls of worry that make life seem hopeless. 

Ugh. I am a disgusting person. Really. 

But God is good (sorry to give away my conclusion, everyone). Today has been a day of God shaking me up and opening my eyes to the realities of my reality. To the positives, the negatives (most of which lie within me, nothing and no one else) and what I can and can't do about everything that I'm worried about. 

First of all last week God challenged me to take my eyes off everything that was worrying me (and there were some genuine things to worry about last week) and look to Him only. I tried it and panicked. As soon as I looked away from all those things I felt powerless and blind and it scared me stiff. Sooo, I did the only logical thing I could think of and worried about all of those things all this week, not to mention worrying about the fact that I worrying too much. 

The fruit of this worry in me was sour to say the least. I noticed myself slagging people off, thinking negatively about my relationship with my family (Ma, dw. It's not you, it's me, k?) and grinding my teeth to their roots out of frustration because I do not own a time machine and therefore cannot find out what's going to happen in the future. 

I have found myself counting my problems, not my blessings and forgetting the great things and people God has put around me. This week I had a great conversation with some girls at our Monday club, RE:MIX, about faith and God's existence - this is something that came out of the blue but is really encouraging to be part of. CU this week was wonderful - very chilled out. I went to see The Hunger Games: Mockingjay and had a quiz night on Thursday and I went to a school panto with a friend on Friday to top it all off. (The panto was amazing - it was called "Robin Hood and the Singing Nuns" and all the girl characters were blokes in drag. Maid Marian had a beard. #bestpantoever) Also I have a new coat. It's like Paddington Bear's. Totally awesome. 

So why the worry? I have money. I am seeing my family in just over a week (eeeeee!!!). It's Christmas time and that means good food and merriment. School's fine. I have friends. Goodness, I have Jesus. ("Jesus responded, "Why are you so afraid? You have so little faith!" Then He got up and rebuked the wind and waves, and suddenly there was a great calm." - Matt. 8:26) 

I have always been one to worry. My father identified this weakness in me as a child and I have thoroughly denied this fact all these years in an attempt to appear strong and in-control to myself. 

This weekend I gave up. I put my eyes on Jesus and He told me how to deal with what I had on my plate. Some things I have had to completely let go of. With some things I have to had to stop and listen in order to act the way He says I should as opposed to the way I thought I should. Some things He has shown me in their true light - good and pleasant and to be appreciated for what they are. 

I took my eyes off of myself and put them on Jesus today and He showed me that everybody else has got problems, too. Everyone's plate is full, not just my own. Everyone has heartache, not just me. Everyone has loved ones; I'm not the only one. And in that moment of revelation the worry that I had been lugging around with me all week seemed unimportant and useless. It didn't disappear but its appearance changed. The best way I can describe it is like this: for the past two weeks worry has looked like a shiny gold trophy that lets me know what a good job I'm doing being so concerned about everything. But today I saw it in its true form: a dirty, soggy rag that they use to wipe poo off the floor. It's so worn out, it's useless. It's so dirty and smelly that instead of cleaning things up, it makes them mucky again. 

Today God showed me how big He is compared to me and my worries. Am I saying I will never worry again? Nope, because I will! BUT God is good. God's grace is so great that it covers not only the things that I'm worried about, but me too when I am faithless and don't put my trust in Him. 

I am so blessed to be surrounded by a good church family, great friends and to have a good school to study at. I am so blessed to have great people to lodge with #shoutoutchrisanddawn and a job that I not only love but that gets the bare necessities (an' some) paid for. 

If you don't know Jesus and find yourself worrying about everything, go to Him. I tried everything and it didn't work. If you don't know Jesus and don't worry, I'd still recommend Him; He's always there, rain or shine. 

Dear Dog People

I was walking along the seafront this Sunday afternoon enjoying the serene view of the sea. I felt so artistically inspired I even wrote a few lines of poetry on my phone to capture the scene and imprint it on my memory.

It was at this moment that I almost stepped in dog poo. 

After that occurred I almost stepped in some more. As I walked further along the delicate smell that was the sea turned sour with the powerful stench of excretion - canine excretion. 

My moment of soul soaring and poetry was stolen from right under my nose. Literally. Gone was the soft lilt of waves stroking the rocks - in its place: boisterous barking and mad panting. I turned my eyes to the beach were stood a group of dog-walkers huddled together in their big coats, leads hanging out of their pockets talking about, well I suppose, dogs. I walked on home baffled by the look of contentment on these people's faces. 

Dear dog people, I'm sorry but I cannot understand you. You purchase or inherit a creature that smells when it's wet, stuffs its nose in your groin for no apparent reason, jumps up at strangers causing you to apologize multiple times and forces you to brave the outdoors at least twice every single day come rain or shine. 

I spend a lot of time with women who have children and a few of them own a dog of some kind. They whine about how their children drive them mad but even so insist of possessing a dog that they, in the end, have to walk and clear up after daily on top of all the parenting and housework they have to do. 

While I'm talking about parents, let's take a moment to remember the ruin that both children and dogs alike bring to household furniture and decoration. If a child drops a plate or draws a recognisable picture of something on the wall, parents flip out and complain about how they can't have nice things because of the children. However if a dog shakes mud all over the new wallpaper or chews up a favourite pair of shoes, the owner only frowns at the guilty creature and perhaps squirts some water at it as punishment, only to pat it on the head five minutes later and say, "Well, it's all part of the deal, right?"

I cannot understand the willingness you people have to wash dogs either. They clean themselves but apparently that's not enough. You must bathe them as well. Getting myself into the shower is challenge enough; I cannot imagine forcing a creature who is in constant 'play mode' into a tub of water and soap only to be bathed myself as a result of its constant wriggling and squirming. 

I realise how incredibly cynical I must sound towards you, dog people, however there is one thing that does make me smile: the look of joy you have on your faces when your dog runs up to you at the end of a long day. That is, until you go into the kitchen where you kept your precious pet all day and find a calamity of half-chewed food and smashed crockey all across the floor. At this point my smile vanishes and I return to my original question: why? 

So there it is, dog people, I simply don't understand you. On that note, I will end this letter in true English fashion: I apologize for my cynicism (but I'm not sorry for what I have said). 

Sincerely,
A catless cat person