The sliding glass doors opened with a soft whoosh, and I stepped into the airport terminal—a world of motion, noise, and anticipation.
Bright lights.Endless lines.Voices echoing in dozens of languages.Screens flashing with flights to places I had only ever dreamed about.
For a moment, I just stood there, taking it all in.
Everyone around me seemed to be going somewhere—families heading on vacations, business travelers rushing with purpose, friends hugging goodbye, couples holding hands. It felt like stepping into a river where every drop flowed toward a different destiny.
My pulse quickened, not from fear this time, but from excitement.
I walked toward the check-in counters, the wheels of other suitcases rolling around me like a steady rhythm guiding my steps. When I reached the line, I realized something:This wasn't a dream anymore.This wasn't preparation.This was real.
I took out my passport. Holding it felt strange—like holding a key I'd never used before.
The line moved slowly, giving me time to observe everything around me. A kid tugged on his mother's hand, pointing excitedly at airplanes outside. A couple whispered their last words before parting ways. A man in a suit typed quickly on his laptop, probably already thinking about the next meeting.
But me?
I wasn't thinking about anything practical at all.
I was thinking about the world.The whole world.And the fact that I was actually going to see it.
When it was my turn at the counter, the airline staff smiled."Destination?"I hesitated for a second—not because I didn't know, but because saying it out loud made it feel official.
"Tokyo," I said.
She typed, printed my boarding pass, and handed it to me.
That small piece of paper felt heavier than any luggage.It was the beginning, sealed in ink.
With my backpack strapped tight, I followed the signs toward security check. The closer I got, the lighter I felt, as if the airport itself was slowly washing away the last pieces of hesitation I carried.
I placed my bag on the conveyor belt, removed my shoes, emptied my pockets. People around me moved with routine, but for me every step felt symbolic.
After passing through the scanner, I collected my things and looked ahead.
Gates stretched out like branches of a giant tree, each leading to a different story, a different world.
And somewhere among them was my gate—my doorway to Japanmy doorway to the first page of the journey I had dreamed about my whole life.
I took a deep breath.
And walked forward.