今早凌晨4:20的时候站在里斯本的机场安检口，盯着登机牌上写的“boarding time 5:50”和眼前不怎么需要等待的自动闸机，我无法说服自己走进去，一宿没睡的脑袋出奇的清醒和激动，心跳止不住的变快，我感受不到时间的流逝，只看到来来往往的人群在我眼前闪过，感觉过了有一个重大决策那么长的时间后，我掏出手机像我想做的那样， 给他发了一个消息，I could literally go back now，回复下一秒就弹出，you’re crazy and I love it，我没有再犹豫了，打了车开始向停车场奔去，为了可以在我离开这片大陆前最后一次拥抱他

昨晚，也就是我在里斯本的最后一夜，他带着来自他家乡小镇的一瓶白葡萄酒第一次站到了我面前， 5个小时后我要赶飞机回到我的生活里去，天亮起的时候他也要回到他的生活里去。
好在住处离机场不远，得益于高速路和清晨还沉寂的城市，没多久后我便再次拥抱到了他，我向好心的司机撒谎我要回家取东西，请他在楼下等我15分钟，于是我们多拥有了珍贵的15分钟，鉴于我们一共也没有拥有太多时间，这15分钟显得没有那么微不足道

握着登机牌站在好心司机看不到我们的小路上，我们并排依靠着栏杆有一搭没一搭聊着并不是非得见面才可以说的话。
很多瞬间我都忘记了我为什么要回来，也或许本来就不需要原因才想回来，让我没来由的愿意费大劲才能靠近的事物其实屈指可数，涛岛，辣度咸度都合口味的臊子面，春秋天的日照，现在或许要多一个人。

橘色的路灯下他问我在新加坡我的生活是什么样子的，我说我总是提前一天才准备第二天开会的内容，所以总是匆匆忙忙的；我指着眼前的葡萄牙建筑说那边的建筑和这个差不多，只不过排列更紧密；我给他看我的证件夹，拿出工签说这个代表我在那里也是个外国人，如果丢掉工作就得滚蛋，他说那我尽量在你被驱逐出境前去找你，或者去中国找你，我说中国还是算了，要不越南，我也还没去过，他说那也行，怎么都行，哪里都行，我们会再见的，他讲的很笃定

我听过好多好多这种话了，我也经常讲这种话，真心假意地掺杂着别的东西就说出口了，下次见，回头见，很快再见，过段时间见吧，忙完这段时间就见……..，我好奇是否有人去研究过这世界上所有约定的实施难度和赴约成功率的关系，我想斗胆猜测它们或许并不成反比，说出“你来到我这片大陆的时候我就去见你”的人总不会因为今天当地天气不好就不想出门去机场，当约定的时间与距离尺度变大 ，似乎要赴约的人也变得慷慨与守约。
我不知道，但我怀着对人类和爱的信心，祈祷事实的确如此。

我想起4年前也是在葡萄牙，站在Faro小镇的海边我看着一辆老火车从我眼前呼啸而过，我意识到我此刻站在一片大陆的一角，第一次有了陆路走过亚欧大陆的念头。这世界被天上飞的地上跑的海里漂的联通得其实很好，某个无聊的下午我对着世界地图研究过，只要你不坚持非要走格陵兰群岛出发去南极看冰川这样的线路，人可以在一个周末内从任何一个机场抵达任何其他机场，所以当时的我鲁莽断言，在经济情况尚可的前提下，任何怪罪距离的关系都是不真诚的，3年过去了，不好说我的鲁莽是否只增不减，但我更坚信我当初的结论了

15分钟很快过去，临走前我说我说have fun in your life，他笑说怎么说的好像我们不会联系也不会再见了一样，我坚持说那while life’s apart, have fun，他说那好，你也是；
会的，我会的，我在心里说。  

好在飞机的引擎声足够大，伴着日出升起的航班足够令人昏睡，否则我的邻座们一定会惊讶于为何这个女孩一直在抽泣，我再一次庆幸我拥有这门语言，让我可以在陌生的土地上不担心周围是否有人会看懂地记录这段故事

飞机要落地了，我总觉得飞机是最不浪漫的一种交通工具了，轮渡上我可以望着岸边的人消失，火车上我们可以隔着玻璃再继续说所有要说的话，汽车就意味着距离不远，可机场总是早早就让人们分开，里斯本的停车点叫做kiss & fly，好吧，不知道下次亲吻到他是什么时候，可能是两个月后，也可能是再也不会，日子还很长，让我来过过看

故事走向是由人决定的，很庆幸是此时此刻的我在经历这一切，关于这段缘分我丢掉了我的第六感，我完全不知道未来要发生什么，但我很期待去经历他们

At 4:20 this morning, standing at the security checkpoint of Lisbon airport, staring at "boarding time 5:50" printed on my boarding pass and the automatic gates ahead with barely any queue, I just couldn't bring myself to walk through. My mind, having gone a whole night without sleep, was startlingly clear and alive. My heart wouldn't stop racing. I couldn't feel time passing — only the blur of strangers moving past me. After what felt as long as making some great life decision, I took out my phone and did what I'd been wanting to do: sent him a message. I could literally go back now. The reply came in the next second. You're crazy and I love it. I didn't hesitate any longer. I hailed a cab and ran toward the parking lot — so I could hold him one last time before I left this continent.

Last night — my final night in Lisbon — he showed up in my life for the first time, holding a bottle of white wine from his hometown where he has his roots in. In 5 hours I'd have to catch my flight back to my life, and by the time daylight came, he'd have to return to his as well.

Fortunately the apartment wasn't far from the airport. Thanks to the highway and a city still wrapped in early-morning silence, I was in his arms again before long. I lied to the kind driver, told him I'd forgotten something at home and asked him to wait downstairs for fifteen minutes. So we had fifteen precious minutes more. Given how little time we'd had altogether, fifteen minutes was far from nothing.

Standing in a small lane where the driver couldn't see us, boarding pass in hand, we leaned side by side against a railing and talked — the kind of talk that didn't really require meeting in person to say now I realize.

There were many moments when I forgot why I'd come back, or maybe there just didn't need to be a reason. The things that make me willingly go to great lengths just to be close to them are very few: Koh Tao, a bowl of minced pork noodles done right, sunlight in spring and autumn — and now, perhaps, one more person.

Under the amber streetlights he asked what my life looked like in Singapore. I told him I always prep my meeting materials the day before, so I'm always rushing around. I pointed to the Portuguese buildings in front of us and said the ones over there look about the same — just packed closer together. I showed him my cards, pulled out my work pass and said this means I am a foreigner there too, lose the job and I'd have to leave. He said he'd try to come visit before I got deported — or visit in China. I said let's skip China, Vietnam sounds better. He said of course, whatever, anywhere — we'll see each other again. He said it with so much certainty.

I've heard this so many times, I've also said so many words like these — sincerely or insincerely, tangled up with something else: see you next time, catch you later, see you soon, let's meet up when things calm down… I've often wondered if anyone has ever studied the relationship between how ambitious a promise is and how often it's actually kept. I'd venture to guess they're not negatively correlated. The person who says I'll meet you when you come to my continent doesn't cancel the plan because the weather's bad. When the scale of a promise grows — in time, in distance — somehow people become more generous and faithful.

I'm not so sure about this. But with some faith in humans and love, I hope that's true.

I think back to 4 years ago, also in Portugal — standing by the sea in the small town of Faro, watching an old train roar past. I realized I was almost standing at the edge of a huge continent. It was the first time I'd thought about traveling overland across Eurasia. This world is actually so well-connected by air and land and sea. One idle afternoon I studied a world map and figured that, unless you insist on routing through Greenland to see Antarctic glaciers, you can reach any airport from any other airport within a weekend. So I made a reckless claim back then: as long as finances allow, any relationship that blames the distance is simply not strong enough. Three years on, I can't say my recklessness has diminished — but I believe that conclusion even more.

The 15 minutes passed quickly. Before I left I said, have fun in your life. He laughed — why does that sound like we'll never be in touch and never see each other again? I held my ground: well, while life's apart, have fun. He said, alright, alright, you too.

I will, I will, I thought to myself.

Good thing that the plane's engines are loud enough. Good thing that a flight taking off into sunrise is the kind that lulls you to sleep — otherwise the passengers beside me would have wondered why this girl kept quietly crying. Once again I'm grateful I have this language, so I can write down this story on a foreign soil without worrying whether anyone around me can read it.

The plane is about to land. I've always thought flying is the least romantic way to travel. On a ferry, I can watch someone on the shore until they disappear. On a train, we can keep talking through the glass until the very end. A car means the distance isn't far. But airports always separate people too early. The drop-off zone in Lisbon is called Kiss & Fly. Well. I don't know when I'll kiss him again — maybe two months from now, maybe never. Life is still so long ahead, I will see what happens.

Stories are written by the people living through them. I'm glad it's me, right now, going through all of this. When it comes to what this is between us, I've lost my gut feeling entirely, I have no idea what comes next, but looking forward to finding out.

All photos are by film