Blog 8: We Arrive When You’re Gone
Flight: Singapore Airlines SQ321 | Route: London Heathrow (LHR) → Singapore Changi (SIN) | Aircraft: Airbus A380
You’ve been gone exactly nine minutes.
That’s how long we’ve had since the last passenger stepped off SQ321, and now we’re in—me, Haris, and the two new kids who still wear their reflective vests like they’re afraid of being invisible. We’ve got 42 minutes to turn this entire A380 around before boarding starts again. That means 42 minutes to clean a flying hotel: double-decker, 471 seats, 14 lavatories, 23 overhead bins left ajar, and a suspicious puddle near Row 72.
I start at the back. Always do. Economy is where people leave the best stuff.
I work fast. Hands gloved. Head down. But my eyes are scanning—not for trash, but for stories.
Seat 64G: A crumpled boarding pass wedged between the seat and the wall.
Name: Alexander Moretti.
Seatmate: Unknown.
Left behind: One half-eaten protein bar, a blue gel pen, and a pocket-sized notebook with a pressed flower inside.
Alexander, I decide, is a botanist. On his way to Singapore for a lecture. The flower? A gift from someone he left behind. Someone he didn’t want to forget.
Haris teases me when I do this.
“You romanticize gum wrappers, man,” he says, yanking out a tangled mess of earbuds from between cushions.
I just shrug. “Gum wrappers mean something to someone.”
We keep moving. Time is tight.
Row 52: A red scarf. Silk, maybe. Smells faintly like rosewater.
I hold it up. It’s expensive. Could’ve been left by accident. Or on purpose.
I imagine her—a woman who always travels with grace, who ties this scarf around her neck like it’s a ritual. Maybe she wore it to say goodbye to someone. Maybe she cried into it. Maybe it slipped off while she was reaching for her bag and she didn’t notice, too busy texting someone who said “don’t go.”
I place it in the lost and found bin, gently.
Lavatory 11B is a war zone.
I won’t describe it. Some things don’t need imagination. They just need gloves and bleach.
Business class is cleaner. Always is. But more boring. People up here pack light, leave fast, and take their earbuds with them.
Seat 11K: Just a folded napkin with the Singapore Airlines logo.
But on the back, written in tiny cursive:
“I forgive you. Let’s talk when I land.”
I stare at it for a second longer than I should. Then tuck it back under the armrest. Not mine to keep.
People think this job is thankless. Sometimes it is. We’re the ones who come in when the stories are over. Who erase the traces. Who reset the clock.
But I like it. Not the smell, not the deadlines, not the guy in Seat 44A who always leaves orange peels tucked in the seat pocket like that’s normal.
I like that we come in after the emotion. I like that we see what’s left behind.
Most people leave planes thinking about where they’re going.
I walk in thinking about where they’ve been.
Last section—Row 80: Near the back, buried under a pile of airline magazines, I find a tiny plastic dinosaur. Bright green. Missing an arm.
Someone’s kid cried when they realized it was gone.
I slip it into my back pocket. I’ll drop it off at the terminal’s lost and found. Maybe it’ll find its way home. Maybe it won’t.
But for now, it rides with me. A small reminder that every seat, every tray table, every quiet aisle tells a different story.
The gate manager radios in:
“Boarding starts in 7 minutes.”
I give one last sweep. Straighten a headrest. Toss a half-empty water bottle. Knock on the cockpit door and nod to the crew.
And just like that, we vanish.
You’ll board the plane thinking it looks the same every time.
But if you look closely—
You’ll see a little bit of someone else’s life, still echoing in the seams.
And maybe, just maybe, you’ll leave behind a story of your own.
Snow Liu's Web 
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