Airports, Delays, and the Long Way Home

That dreaded moment had come — we were leaving.

I was up long before the sun, my bags packed and repacked, every item double-checked and triple-checked in the dim, artificial hotel light. I dressed in the same soft, comfy clothes I’d worn on the flight to Korea, now fitting just a little too loosely thanks to a month of movement and food that actually nourished me. This was it. The last goodbye.

And though I tried not to let my mind spiral — tried not to think What if this is the last time I ever leave the U.S.? — those thoughts crept in anyway. I shoved them down the best I could. I wanted to focus on the good. I wanted gratitude to win. But my body was already betraying me — a stomach too tight for breakfast, hands shaking with anxiety. Even the coffee was a no-go. The burnt smell wafting from the hotel’s convenience store was enough to turn me off entirely. I told myself I’d wait until after airport security.

Soon, the whole group was packed and ready, passing around luggage scales from room to room, praying our overstuffed bags wouldn’t tip the weight limit. Gone were our comfy private buses — today we piled onto the hotel’s shuttle to Incheon International Airport. It took only 15–20 minutes to get there, but I was barely holding it together. Nausea, nerves, fatigue — the holy trinity of long travel days. I checked my seat three times to make sure I had everything. And when we pulled up at our terminal, the bus driver unloaded our luggage without ceremony, our bags tumbling into a breeze left over from the storm the day before.

I’ve been to a lot of airports — U.S., international, major hubs like Atlanta — but none of them hold a candle to Incheon. We hadn’t seen much of it when we arrived a month ago — just immigration, baggage claim, and a brief stop at the SIM card kiosk. But now, walking through departures, I realized Incheon is its own kind of destination. Before security, there were luxury shops, cafés, a live performance stage with four-story LED walls, and a towering indoor waterfall surrounded by tropical plants. And above the security area? A full-on hanok — a traditional Korean structure where travelers lounged on sleek modern seating beneath curved wooden eaves. It felt more like a museum or a cultural park than an airport. And maybe that’s the point. Incheon was Korea’s last word to us — You came, you saw, you learned... now remember me like this.

Dr. Woo told us to explore — our last little moment together as a group. She was staying behind for family reasons, and the rest of us were scattering. Some went straight to security. Some of us got split up in the check-in lines. We trickled through security at different times, grouped loosely by whoever we ended up beside in line. A few of us regrouped afterward. I grabbed Taco Bell (yes, it exists in Korea, and yes — it’s better than back home. I said what I said), and we did a bit of last-minute shopping, trying to soak up whatever time we had left. But it flew.

We blinked. They were calling our group.
We blinked. We were boarding.
I don’t even remember takeoff. It became a blur.

I didn’t sleep on the plane. I watched K-dramas. I worked on this blog. I tried to read. Then gave up and watched another K-drama. Sixteen hours in the air. Eventually, we landed at Dallas-Fort Worth. I was one of the first off the plane. Some of my group were flying straight to New Mexico from here. I had a brutal 8-hour layover before my flight to California.

Twelve hours to go.

A friend and I passed through security again, checked back in, and killed time in the terminal. We were both zombies at this point. I hadn’t slept in over 24 hours, and I was starting to unravel. When my gate was finally announced, we said our goodbyes, and I found a quiet row of seats with footrests near my terminal. I latched my carry-on to myself like a safety harness, curled up… and slept.

That sleep — airport sleep — was a weird kind of unconsciousness. I woke to a little girl poking my leg. For one terrifying second, I thought I’d missed my flight, lost my bag, or was being robbed.

Turns out, her mom had been explaining the Korean lettering on my jacket, and the girl was just curious. We struck up a conversation. I learned she was interested in archaeology — what I’m doing in grad school — and we talked about travel, Korea, and what it means to study people and places.

I still had some ₩ coins in my bag, so I asked her mom if it’d be okay to give her daughter one as a keepsake. I explained who was on the coin and its value, and she lit up. It was a little moment — unexpected and sweet — and I’m glad I didn’t sleep through it.

Then came the next blow: My flight was delayed. Again. And the gate had changed — different terminal, different building. So I gathered my things and hobbled to the tram, my knee sore and stiff after hours of sitting. By now, most of my travel companions were home or en route. I still had miles to go. Eventually, I made it to the right gate. I was starving but didn’t want to risk missing another update. The flight kept getting pushed… and pushed… and pushed. Weather delays. Crew overage. Refueling. Deep sighs. At one point, I wasn’t even sure we’d leave that night. But eventually, they called our gate. The crew had arrived. We were boarding.

And as much as I hadn’t wanted to leave Korea…
I was just ready to be home.

I boarded. I drank the water. I inhaled the snacks. I tried to sleep — and failed. That weird jetlagged wakefulness set in, where everything feels like a dream except your aching spine. The guy in front of me was watching Queen of the Damnedon his iPad, which definitely didn’t help the weird, horror-dream vibe. After three surreal hours, we landed in San Diego.

My husband had been circling the airport for a while. My flight was delayed. Again. The luggage carousel was slow, and when my suitcase finally came, the strap broke — beads from a luggage tag exploded across the airport floor. Strangers helped me scoop them up as I apologized through half-laughter, half-tears. Then I saw them.

My husband. My dog. My car.
Thirty minutes later, I was almost home.

We stopped at In-N-Out. I took two bites and realized I was too tired to even taste food. I showered — maybe. It’s all fuzzy now. And then I collapsed into bed and slept for 14 hours straight.

And that was the end of my travels.
But just the beginning of this project.