Going Home from a Solo Trip: Ihr Flug Verspätung hat — by Miss Fiona Wong, Division of Arts and Languages
Keywords: Poetry, home, flight, Germany, identity reconstruction, liberalism, root-searching literature
Accepted: July 9, 2026; Online first: July 11, 2026; Published: July 13, 2026 (TBC)
Stepping out from the station Frankfurt am Main Flughafen Fernbahnhof
You felt a rush in your chest as you walked down the long corridor
towards the gate for international departures.
You made sure you caught the right train, earliest possible, this morning.
You didn’t want to be late.
It’s been three weeks, and you were ready to go home.
You had to go home.
Passport in hand,
belt, jacket, scarf off,
liquids bag ready,
electronic devices out –
You knew the drill
You knew they would scan you, and then your bag
You knew Frankfurt am Main Flughafen Fernbahnhof from Frankfurt am Main
the former is the airport station and the latter the main city station
You knew the train schedule by heart
You knew where the best coffee in town was
after three weeks, when you were ready to go home.
Your wandering finger then hit the Lufthansa app:
FRA ➔ HKG BOARDING 19:50
Three hours to go. Bit early but you wanted to play it safe.
You got yourself a little pre-flight snack
A cold sandwich and juice, or syrup, but you didn’t care.
You were going home.
Outside, the planes – you wondered which one was yours –
were still, in line, but ready.
And so were you.
You took out your phone: no messages. It was past midnight back at home.
Your wandering finger then hit the Lufthansa app:
FRA ➔ HKG BOARDING 19:50
An hour to go. All good.
You looked up, not many travelers lingered at the gate
when you heard the announcement
— LH756 nach Hong Kong: Ihr Flug Verspätung hat.
“Your flight is cancelled.”
You froze.
You glanced at the clock. 18:45.
You took out your phone and opened the Lufthansa app again:
FRA ➔ HKG CANCELLED
You scrolled down to see if there was more information
or someone you could call
or a button you could press
but the page remained blank.
You got up
You headed back from where you came
Somewhere along the long corridor there was an information kiosk –
you remembered.
You could do it.
You knew you could.
My flight is cancelled, what should I do?
We are closing this counter. Go to Counter 50.
Where is Counter 50?
Go down the hall and take a right.
So you went. No more questions asked.
You knew they weren’t helping
But you had no time to lose.
The same long corridor felt a lot longer than when you came and
Counter 50 felt like a destination that you would never arrived at
and when you did you almost missed it
that tiny inconspicuous desk, so dimly-lit
like it was determined to evade any questions asked
the only staff on duty was looking at his phone –
Excuse me, my flight is cancelled, what should I do?
We are closing this counter. Go to Counter 10.
But I came from Counter 10. They said I should come here.
No, we are closing.
What should I do? My flight is cancelled.
… what airline are you with?
Lufthansa.
Go to the Lufthansa counter.
Where is it?
In the Departure Hall. This way.
You got your answer. You thanked him. He went back to his phone.
And then there’s silence.
You looked up, not many travelers lingered around.
You could do it, you told yourself.
You had to go home.
Another long corridor, no end in sight.
No one in sight.
Your heart sank. You felt your back soaked from all the running and rushing.
Your bag was heavy and you were dragging your suitcase on.
The sky was a deep, unfathomable blue.
The planes outside were moving – but none of them was yours.
The airport suddenly felt cold, almost hostile, its vastness engulfing.
To get back to the Departure Hall you had to go through immigration,
where the uniformed man with a poker face stamped his chop
“entry” right next to “exit”
after hearing you snuffle and say you missed your flight.
– you didn’t miss your flight, technically, but what difference did it make.
When you arrived at the Departure Hall, your heart sank some more.
The Lufthansa counter was there, with hundreds of people in front of it waiting in line.
You glanced at the clock. 21:50.
You found the end of the line and stayed in place.
The line moved slowly, and you wondered
what they would give you when it’s finally your turn.
People around you were whining, or yelling at the staff,
as if it’d give them control,
some left to get food and water, or to go to the bathroom
while their family stayed in line.
But you only had yourself.
Passport in hand, you waited quietly.
You waited quietly for your turn,
for them to tell you when your next flight would be,
for an end in sight.
The line was slowly clearing up.
You glanced at the clock. 23:55. The counters were closing soon.
Your heart sank, but you had no energy left to catch it.
You waited some more.
When you finally walked up to the counter,
“We are unable to arrange your next flight now. You will have to come back tomorrow morning. However, we will give you a free night at a nearby hotel and taxi trips to and from the airport. Would you like that?”
You nodded, and you did not remember anything else.
Vouchers in hand, you walked right out of the Flughafen.
Some taxis were waiting in line. One of it took you to your hotel.
At the hotel, you waited some more. The same travelers at the Lufthansa counter earlier.
You smiled. No one was yelling.
The sweat on your back had dried.
Your bag was heavy but it was bearable.
You went up to your room.
You glanced at the clock. 01:20.
You put down your bags and let out a sigh.
You were home.
