happy stretchy pant!

The list was long, but somehow still short, at least that’s what Mai kept telling herself as she dragged her suitcase through the airport that was rapidly turning into a sleepover camp for stranded travelers. Flights were being cancelled left and right. People were rushing, bargaining, praying for a seat home, trying to make it back for that once-a-year long weekend with the people they loved… or at least tolerated.

Mai didn’t mind the grease to come. Thanksgiving was the one day she looked forward to her stretchy pants, the maroon ones with the elastic waistband that had seen her through every feast since college. “Comfort over pride,” she always joked, though the holiday wasn’t really about food. It was about being surrounded by the family members who drove her insane but still somehow held the map to her heart.

Outside the airport windows, giant banners screamed 70% OFF! FINAL SALE! The sales were spreading like wildfire, so intense that even strangers were whispering to each other about which stores dropped their discounts first. Tradition had changed: families now ate turkey, shared gratitude, and then stormed the malls like modern-day hunters chasing the “sale of the year.”

But what did she want this year? She wasn’t sure.

Some people around her were clutching bags already full of early Christmas gifts, presents that would magically appear under trees with a tag from “Santa Claus.” Others stood silently, calling home to say they wouldn’t make it back. She watched a young security guard explain to his daughter that he might be stuck working through the holiday. His voice cracked when he said he loved her.

Even the Grinch, she thought, would soften on a day like this. Her flight was delayed three hours, then five, then indefinitely. Mai sighed, sat down on the cold floor, and opened her notebook. If Thanksgiving was the season to get things off people's chest, then maybe she should start.

What am I thankful for?

Her pen hovered.

What will I gobble up?

She smirked. Probably everything.

There were thirty days left in the year, thirty days until the Year of the Snake ended. What had she accomplished? What had made her proud? What moment had changed her or made her smile?

She thought of the stranger who returned her lost wallet last spring, refusing a reward. She thought of her niece’s handwritten “I love you more than pizza” card. She thought of how she’d learned to forgive someone she never thought she could…and for the others she had long since flushed away, disappearing like waste down a drain.

And what was she still holding on to?

Maybe the fact that she still didn’t know what she wanted out of life, or even what she wanted out of this holiday. But she wrote anyway. She wrote until the airport felt warm.

Hours later, an announcement crackled through the speakers: her flight was finally boarding. Everyone shot up like popcorn. When Mai stepped onto the plane, her heart felt lighter, not because she was going home, but because she’d taken the time to notice what the year had given her. What she’d lost. What she’d gained. What still burn. What still rebirthed. Thirty days left.

Plenty of time, she realized, to make something count. She smiled, imagining the maroon stretchy pants waiting for her.

Thanksgiving would be messy, loud, and imperfect. And she was still not ready for it.

She stepped onto the airplane with a quiet smile, carrying a small bag of cookies she had baked that morning. Before heading to her seat, she stopped by the cockpit, offering a few to the copilot and the flight attendants. They thanked her warmly, grateful for a small kindness in a place where kindness often felt rare.

As she walked down the aisle, the overhead announcement crackled to life, urging everyone to fasten their seat belts as soon as possible so the plane could leave this hell-town airport, a place people escaped from the way rats escape a sinking ship. If this airport had a slogan, it’d probably be “Come for the delays stay because we lost your passport.” Or "leave the PJs at home and fly like an adult."

The plane rumbled forward, rolling down the runway until it lifted off, leaving the cracked concrete and heavy memories behind. Out the window, she could still see the air-traffic control tower, different now, changed forever. Yet despite everything that had happened, the tragedy had woven the community together, binding it with threads of resilience.

Somewhere far beyond the horizon, Malaysia Airlines Flight 370 (MH370) once crossed the ocean on a night like any other, until it lost contact with the tower and disappeared into the sea at the so-called Burmese Triangle. Mai’s last call was left unsaid, just like the final words of every passenger on that flight. Their silence still echoed across the world.

As the plane fall from the sky, she closed her eyes. Whatever you can’t leave at the door, she reminded herself,

“Leave it at the door,” she whispered to herself. “Leave it all.”

Because in the end, what’s left of her is only a black box, a parting gift to those she loved.

Don’t let your words become like theirs: something unfinished, something forever lost. Because after she dies, she becomes a lost ghost, drifting back to her family and watching them cry at her funeral.

But as the plane went down, an announcement over the intercom jolted her awake. Her ears ringed, “Malaysia Airlines Flight 370, final boarding call!” Mai sat up, heart racing, realizing she had drifted off and dreamed of her own demise on that flight. Shaken, she immediately called her family to say she was going to miss the plane, there was no way she could board after a dream like that. Sometimes, it turns out, not all “bad luck” is actually bad.

And she was grateful for that dream because the next morning she saw the news, and Mai mai...

Happy Holiday to who matter!

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#happythanksgiving #happystretchypant