The journey
Today is going to be a big day, no matter how many times I tell myself to act like it is nothing out of normal. The flight in itself is not. I am used to all that comes with it. There’s the joy of flying among the clouds, and the horrible pain in my ears just before landing. It’s going to be a long journey, they say. Do I have a choice but to smile and get on with it? It’s going to be a little tough, to be away from everyone I have ever loved, everyone who loves me. I am going to miss the sights and sounds, the people, the smell in the air, of spices, of smoke from the cars. But I leave these behind, in the hope that there is indeed a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow.
The interiors of the aircraft look familiar. Plush cushions, cramped leg-space. But familiarity stops right here, for I see people who are not like any I have seen before. It’s only on the TV shows that you see such colours. Hair-curly, red, blonde. Skin-some black as coal and some white, as a canvas before paints. The only I have ever seen is a shade of brown topped with a mop of raven-black hair. The sight starts a small tingle at the pit of my stomach, a feeling that is a blend of a thousand subtle emotions. Apprehension, excitement, fear, loneliness, doubt. What do I look like to these people? Certainly not as one among them. Will they take me in and make me feel at home? Will they overlook my skin colour, the way I dress, my slightly different accent? Evaluate me as an individual and see that I am not too different from them. And that I need all the help and love just now, not cold stares and a curt greeting. I cuddle in my seat, wishing for the protection of a womb while sleep takes over me.
The 24 hours gone in a daze. Open skies again after having been locked up for so long. The sun is bright after a long night. I have made a few new friends, a lady from Thailand who is back from visiting her daughter, and who tells me that I speak like her. There is the man from Bangladesh who wants to know whether things are still the way they were when he had to leave the country. Then the American, who is impressed that I am traveling so far to study and who hopes that I’ll have a wonderful stay in his country. Maybe I just will. Yes, the sun shines, without blinding my eyes.
The interiors of the aircraft look familiar. Plush cushions, cramped leg-space. But familiarity stops right here, for I see people who are not like any I have seen before. It’s only on the TV shows that you see such colours. Hair-curly, red, blonde. Skin-some black as coal and some white, as a canvas before paints. The only I have ever seen is a shade of brown topped with a mop of raven-black hair. The sight starts a small tingle at the pit of my stomach, a feeling that is a blend of a thousand subtle emotions. Apprehension, excitement, fear, loneliness, doubt. What do I look like to these people? Certainly not as one among them. Will they take me in and make me feel at home? Will they overlook my skin colour, the way I dress, my slightly different accent? Evaluate me as an individual and see that I am not too different from them. And that I need all the help and love just now, not cold stares and a curt greeting. I cuddle in my seat, wishing for the protection of a womb while sleep takes over me.
The 24 hours gone in a daze. Open skies again after having been locked up for so long. The sun is bright after a long night. I have made a few new friends, a lady from Thailand who is back from visiting her daughter, and who tells me that I speak like her. There is the man from Bangladesh who wants to know whether things are still the way they were when he had to leave the country. Then the American, who is impressed that I am traveling so far to study and who hopes that I’ll have a wonderful stay in his country. Maybe I just will. Yes, the sun shines, without blinding my eyes.
posted by Satyashree Srikanth at 10:36 AM
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