Mango series 2

Three months have passed and I'm on the way back to my niche outside my good old hometown (good because everything there is good, the view, the smell, the sound, pampering all my five senses; old because all the memories about the place stored in my head are more than four years old).

It is written in my ticket:
Ms. MANGO VALENTINA
Seat D17
Surabaya-Singapore

"Mbak, di dalam tasnya ada gunting ya?" (Miss, are there scissors in your bag?)
A soft-looking male guard stop me next to the bag X-ray machine.

I try to count with my fingers how many times my mother has reminded me not to put sharp metals in my bag. Unfortunately, the advice does not seem to be stuck in my head. The guard is patient enough to guide me on the procedure to solve my scissors-in-the-bag problem. At last, he suggests me to leave my brother's contact number so that he can come and collect my scissors at the airport.

"Mbak namanya siapa?" (Miss, what is your name?)
The guard asks me while we are waiting for a lady to bring a piece of paper from her office.
"Mango."
"Mbak Mango sekolah di Singapura?" (Miss Mango studying in Singapore?)
"Ya."
"Sudah berapa tahun di Singapura?" (How many years have you been in Singapore?)
I hold out my palm facing him and fold my thumb.