I was slouching suspiciously by Row 11, waiting for my sister to be done with her card activation transaction. She was going to California and I was going to fall asleep. It was an 8am flight and while we were as late as possible, it still entailed snoozing a 5.30am alarm clock.

As she stood in queue for the ATM machine, I people-watched through half-closed eyes. An entire cricket team clad in black blazers flooding out the whole of Row 13, a group of Japanese college kids waving goodbye, a Caucasian couple sharing a soya beancurd breakfast. Expensive luggage, matching bags, a toddler pushing her own pram in an attempt to mimic her folks working the trolleys.

Two grubby backpacks caught my eye. They were strapped onto the backs of two equally grubby-looking dudes half-walking, half-running – obviously late for their check-in. My eyes followed them and my heart kept pace. I felt like running after them. I felt like dropping my weight and taking off. Heck, I felt like dragging my weight along and struggling as far as I can. Greece. Peru. Greenland. The Amazon. Where my feet take me, will be my destination. And for that brief moment, where my mind wandered, my heart found its place.