The three and a half hours before my flight back from studying abroad in Korea found me scrambling around my emptied dorm with the aplomb of a newly headless chicken. Mom’s incredulous voice, on speaker, ascended from waves of blankets.
Mom: You’re still packing?
Me: No, I already have all the stuff in the big suitcase and just need to transfer some of it to the smaller one.
So, sans editorialization, I was still packing. I’d bought a small suitcase for my second carry-on the night before, having realized there is, in fact, a limit to how many snacks you can fit in your luggage—for some reason I was under the impression that gifts for other people don’t count toward your packing total on a sort of karmic basis—and justified spending $80 on extra space for honey butter almonds I could probably just Amazon to the States.
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