Luggage in Tow

The airport was alive with its usual bustle—crowds moving in every direction, the echo of announcements, and the hum of suitcase wheels over the tiled floor. I hoisted my oversized carry-on onto my shoulder, my other hand pulling a suitcase that had become more like a lifeline than luggage. There was a time I would have breezed through here with a small duffel bag, moving as if I could take on the world with just a few essentials. But that version of me was long gone.

Traveling light? I didn’t even remember what that felt like.

Now, my bags were packed to cover every “just in case” scenario. Extra medication, carefully selected foods that I knew wouldn’t trigger my body, and a travel-size first aid kit tucked in with the snacks. After years of adjusting to this chronic illness, I knew better than to rely on anything but what I brought myself.

I finally made it to the counter, barely masking the effort it took to lift my bag onto the scale. The attendant glanced at me, then my bags, with a hint of sympathy I could’ve done without.

“No other bags?” she asked politely.

“Nope, just these.” I forced a polite smile, taking back my ID and boarding pass as she handed them over. “All set?”

“All set, Ms. Santos. Enjoy your flight.”

I nodded, muttering a quick “thank you” before moving toward security. My phone buzzed just as I was shoving my ID back into my wallet—a text from Mom.

Mom: “Cassie, don’t forget to rest during your layover, okay?”

I rolled my eyes but texted her back anyway.

Me: “Yes, Mom, I will. All good.”

Her texts had started coming in every few minutes after I left the house, and I could practically hear her fussing from here. She knew that I could handle it all, and yet, as always, I’d catch that hint of worry in her voice. Part of me wanted to tell her that I was fine, that this wasn’t my first time traveling under these circumstances. But I also knew that being the only child meant Mom would worry no matter what I said.

I glanced up at the departures board and took a deep breath, grounding myself in the comforting chaos of the airport. I loved it here—the way the world seemed to be in constant motion, everyone heading somewhere. Another work trip was on the horizon, this time to represent my boss at the European Chamber’s AGM. I’d volunteered for it, mostly because the idea of staying stuck behind my desk for another week sounded like a punishment.

Just as I took a seat near the gate, a new message popped up from my boss, Mr. Reyes.

Mr. Reyes: “Cassie, all set? Reminder: make a strong impression at the AGM—don’t let them forget PHILCO.”

Me: “Absolutely. I’ve got it under control.”

Mr. Reyes: “Good. I’m counting on you.”

That was classic Mr. Reyes—direct, focused. He expected nothing less than perfection, and usually, I could manage that, even if it meant bending myself in uncomfortable directions to get there. But this trip wasn’t about him or the AGM, really. It was about the way travel helped me break free from routine, even if only for a little while.

Boarding began, and I felt the usual flicker of anticipation as I stood and readjusted the weight of my bags. I could feel the familiar tension between my shoulder blades, but the thought of the journey ahead made it all worth it.

As I settled into my seat, I allowed myself a small sigh of relief, tucking my phone away as the engines hummed to life. Sure, the next few days would be busy with work, but at least it was a change—a reprieve from the endless cycle of tasks and responsibilities back home. Maybe even a chance to think about something other than managing every small detail of my life.

Just as the plane began to taxi down the runway, I felt my phone buzz one last time.

Mom: “Text me when you land, Cassie. And be careful.”

Me: “I will. Don’t worry.”

And with that, I finally let myself relax, feeling the weight of my bags pressing into the floor, but the weight of everything else slowly lifting. For now, I had everything I needed.

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