Flight to Manila.

Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens is basked in good weather. It turns out that this weekend, there is a St George's Festival. No British person actually knows when St George's Day is, so it's always a surprise when cliché interpretations of another time are out in force. Not that I mind. It reminds me of childhood, of growing up. The sounds of Punch & Judy echo across the park.

And for once, in a small green field in the centre of a conurbation, people are friendly. Smiles on their faces as they collectively enjoy the change of scenery and the slow pace of a casual Sunday stroll through Vauxhall.

But I'm not with them. I'm sat in a tearoom, trying to work out a plan of action and quite frankly feeling as anxious as I ever have. The reason – I was turned away from the check-in desk for my flight last night. It's a horrendous, first world problem, that I should have been on a flight to Manila and yet I'm not. 

The worst part is trying to not be affected, especially for my boyfriend's sake. It's upsetting to have expectations so high, and suddenly everything comes crashing down, and know that there is nothing you can do. Hands are tied. It was after we'd said goodbye, so that he could still go home to the Philippines and see his family, and I'd watched him walk through security that it hit me. I cried because there was nothing left to do, no other options.

A couple friends jumped on the Tube, and took the hour or so trip to come and find me so that I didn't have to stumble home alone with my thoughts. We found a fast-food place to just grab something to eat, and like a child of divorced parents who share custody, I was passed from one couple to another friend – the only thing lacking was a happy meal toy and helium balloon. At least I wasn't alone.

This morning, after sleeping on it, it's now hit home. There are obviously things we can do, but nothing urgent. Appointments are set up, plans are cancelled or amended, and I have resigned myself to a shortened trip. I suppose I'm apprehensive because now everything is out of my control. It is truly in the hands of the Gods. 

That's the amazing thing – friends are willing to do anything they can to help you. I'm so reluctant to ask for help that I'm more taken aback by the presence of people in my life making sure that I'm okay. It's a weird feeling, but I am certainly grateful for having some wonderful people in my life.

The teapot is lukewarm now. The afternoon shadows are growing longer across the room. The temperature is dropping as a cool wind snakes through. And all I know is that I am fortunate to smell the floral scent of spring, and feel the warm of sun on my skin. And I am alive.