Snow Liu's Web

The Flight to a New Life

Flight: United Airlines UA889 | Route: Beijing (PEK) to San Francisco (SFO) | Aircraft: Boeing 787-9 Dreamliner | Seat: 42K, Economy Window

I pull my mask up a little higher, trying to cover my face as I shuffle forward in line. My eyes are still slightly red—just moments ago, I said goodbye to my parents at the security checkpoint. I tried my best to hold it together, but when my mom hugged me one last time, whispering,

“Take care of yourself, eat well, don’t stay up too late,”

I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up. My dad, ever the quiet one, just patted my shoulder firmly. No words—just that simple gesture.

Then the line moved forward, and I had no choice but to turn away.

Now, as I step onto the plane, I keep my head down, hoping no one notices my puffy eyes. I make my way to seat 42K—a window seat. The cabin is filled with the scent of recycled air, faint traces of coffee, and something else I can’t quite place. As soon as I sit down, I reach into my backpack and pull out two essentials: my sleep mask and noise-canceling headphones. A 12-hour flight lies ahead, and I need every bit of comfort I can get.

I glance at my phone before takeoff—only two messages.

The first is from the family group chat.

“Try to get some rest on the plane. Let us know as soon as you land.”

I hesitate for a moment, then open the second message.

“I’ll always love you.”

It’s from her.

My fingers hover over the keyboard, but I don’t know what to say back. A simple “Take care” feels too distant, but anything more would make me dwell on everything I’m leaving behind. In the end, I don’t reply—I just press the heart reaction and lock my phone.

The engines roar to life, and as the plane speeds down the runway, my heart pounds a little harder. The moment the wheels lift off the ground, I glance out the window. The familiar streets, the clusters of golden city lights, the winding highways—they all shrink rapidly beneath me. Then, within seconds, everything disappears into thick layers of clouds.

Beijing is gone.

---

A couple of hours pass before the flight attendants start serving dinner. I push my sleep mask up and take off my headphones just in time to hear the familiar question:

“Chicken with rice or beef with noodles?”

“Noodles,” I answer automatically.

A tray is placed in front of me: a steaming portion of beef noodles, a small salad, a fruit cup, and—of course—a rock-hard bread roll. I pick up the bread and give it an experimental squeeze. Yep, still tough enough to be classified as a weapon. I sigh, tearing off a piece and trying to spread the provided butter over it, but the butter is cold and solid, refusing to budge. Some things never change.

Then, I glance at the drink menu and feel a wave of annoyance. In China, I’m already 18—an adult. But in the U.S., I’ll still be underage for three more years. No drinking, no buying alcohol. This realization makes me hesitate for a second before flagging down a flight attendant.

I clear my throat. “Could I have a glass of red wine, please?”

She pauses for a brief moment but then nods. A minute later, she hands me a small bottle of Bordeaux red wine and a plastic cup. I pour it out, swirl it slightly, and take a slow sip. The rich, slightly bitter taste spreads across my tongue, leaving a warm sensation as it slides down my throat. It’s not the best wine, but it feels significant—like a final farewell to the life I’m leaving behind.

By the time I finish my meal, I feel full, warm, and a little more at ease. I head to the restroom to wash up, then return to my seat and lean back. Still seven hours to go.

I turn on the in-flight entertainment system, scrolling through the endless selection of movies. After debating for a while, I settle on Forrest Gump—a classic. Something about watching an American film while heading to America feels appropriate.

But no matter how hard I try, I just can’t focus. The dialogue becomes background noise, the characters’ movements blur together. My mind drifts.

I look out the window instead. The night sky is vast, endless, speckled with faint stars. Below, thick clouds stretch out like an ocean, concealing the earth beneath them. From up here, there’s no sense of distance—just the quiet, endless unknown.

I take a deep breath, allowing the view to sink in. Maybe this is what my future feels like right now—uncertain, a little intimidating, but also open, limitless.

I adjust my pillow, pull my sleep mask back down, and let the gentle hum of the aircraft lull me into rest.

Tomorrow, when I wake up, my new life will officially begin.