Airplanes - or How I cried during Mr. & Mrs. Smith

This is the first thing I wrote in my diary, on the airplane.
I'm happy to say that by now, I realize my fears didn't come true, and I wanna thank Dimitri for having been the 'absolute hombre' he is.

There's something about traveling. Well there's a lot of things. One of hem, is airplane movies. I mean, 2 years ago, I cried watching Mr. and Mrs Smith on the flight back from Costa Rica. Today, I find myself asking the 'big questions' on love inspired by 'What happens in Vegas', the movie I just saw. Maybe it's the lack of sleep. The 'nowhereness' of the last 12 hours of transit geography. Maybe the whole thing is about 'stripping down'. Deconstructing the usual framework with(in) which you confront everything, all the way down to 'sunday-afternoon-type movie, and letting them hit you in places that never before lay bare under similar circumstances. I remember now, this kid on the bus in Belgium. he cried his lungs for the complete duration of the ride, for his 'mommy' wasn't there. I remember noticing how personal, how emotional, how drastically the little boy let things' hit him'. I think of Rosie, and her affirmed vulnerability. And I think, then, that traveling is maybe also about trusting your torso forward, exclaiming 'Hit me!' too whatever comes next. Whatever could come, may it hit hard. That's something we don't have the luxury to let happen in our daily lives. Who can afford to get so upset over daily situations? But that's exactly what we signed up for with a backpack on our shoulders. Therefor, the worst kind of trip is the kind with no extremes.

That's what I'm most afraid of, traveling with Dim and Ammu. That every incident will be 'dealt' with. Like through a buffer, a condom so think that the original purpose of the whole endeavour gets lost behind layers and layers of everything-proof material. A new term must be coined here. Something like 'mirror-blocking' each other, by constantly reminding each other exactly who we are, who we were before we left, therefor taking away the one thing that strange faces in strange places offer: a chance to reinvent, above all, yourself. What bothers me, is that we will recreate the exact same microcosm of social norms that we sought to escape from in the first place. I'm gonna call it dancefloor-blocking each other. Like when you went to a discotheque for a first time, but couldn't muster the nerves to break some dancing moves in front of your friends. It's kind of a double or nothing thing. Your best friend will the kind of support you need to unleash yourself. But anyone short of your absolute hombre, will just be a staring face, a silent judgmental mirror. Then again, it's not the first time I hear myself think' if only the room was full of strangers', and fact is, I was there too and it rarely made a difference. So, it's just a matter of having a strong reality. No matter who's watching.

Tal Benisty