Oh boy, the traveling bug has
bit, hard. And it’s lovely. (On a side note: ever wonder what said bug would look
like? I sort of imagine it as a Lady Bug
that sits on your shoulder and nibbles and just rides along with you wherever
you go.)
So I think as a brown person born
unto another land as opposed to the one I grew up within, I was predestined to be
a traveler. Many moons ago, when asked
by a future employer, “do you have a valid passport?” my response had been to
laugh softly and say, “I pretty much came out of the womb clutching one” and
although this was a risky response to a serious question, my (soon-to-be) boss
chuckled in appreciation at the humor.
This is true, sorta kinda, the whole born with a passport thing. I mean, a month after I was born my father
tromped his way to the US Embassy to fill out a visa application form for the
family and so the process began. By the
time I was at the ripe old age of 3, I had taken my first intercontinental
flight in a big Boeing 747. That memory
is to this day hazy around the edges yet bizarrely clear.
Now I can assure you that the reminiscences
of a 3-year-old aren’t precisely reliable.
But I’ve had this vision enough times throughout my life that when I
finally asked my mother about it, she was fairly shocked at how accurately I
had recalled the memory. It went
something like this:
A bumpy van ride in the middle of the night to somewhere that my young
mind didn’t care to acknowledge, me sleepy, half curled, half leaned into my aunt’s
arms dozing upon her breast, the smell of the starch from her sari as distinct
as the coffee that I’m drinking at this very moment. And then it cuts to a dark tarmac. The swirl of heated wind engulfing us,
blowing the clothes upon us hither and yon. My father in front with my brother,
shadowy figures. My mother holding my
hand dragging me forward towards…something, but I was resisting, looking back
at the dirty white stucco building where the rest of my beloved family stood on
an outside balcony. Oddly they were
ramrod straight in one singular line.
And though they were far away, they had seemed within arm’s reach and I
wanted to go back, the wetness on my cheeks attested to that deep longing along
with the low moaning wail that had come from somewhere within me. The next frame was of me on the metal stairs
headed into the aircraft, although I never saw it clearly in any of my dreams
but some dim part of subconscious recognition knew what it was. There was a pause on those stairs, me a step
below my mother who stood as still as her own beloved family, staring back at
them as her own sari blew hauntingly in slow motion (to me) and I noted the
stark face of pain and sadness and loss.
I was simply confused at this.
Why was she so sad? Why did she
look like that? Why were we leaving
because I knew we were going away? That child
didn’t have any answers but was so sure that some part of the life she had
known was being ripped away, brutally. Here
are a few more things that comes to me whenever I see these visions: the smell
of tar, gas fuel, the deafening song of the engines, and my mother’s soft voice
with a slight catch of emotions as she whispered, ‘cholo’ (let’s go) which blew
away with the wind before entering the plane.
That was it. That’s all there is although I wonder why my
mind refuses to register what happened next, or next, or next. Not a long drawn out memory but that was
apparently my first flight. I later
laughed when I told my parents, they don’t fool around when they decide to take
us somewhere, it’s pretty much ‘go large or go home’. And flying from a young age isn’t really all
that unique, not for those who are immigrants to this country, not born here. Most brown folks like myself (for I can
fairly attest to my own kind) are well versed in traveling and for the longest
time I was foolish enough to assume that everyone in the universe was also. I did it surely everyone else did also,
right? Wrong. It was quite interesting when I finally understood
that sometimes people chose willingly not to leave even their states, much less
the country and this is a concept to this day that confounds me. I mean, my intellectual side gets it just
fine, but adventurous spirit fights it.
I’m not judging, I swear it. I
respect everyone for their individual selves.
It’s just that I can’t identify with it.
So what brings me to write this
blog other than sharing a random childhood memory? Well, I’ve always loved to travel and that’s
no surprise to anyone who has read my past blogs about vacations here and
there. But lately I’ve stagnated in life
thus putting all thoughts of going anywhere anytime soon into the back recesses
of my mind. Basically, funding is low
and I had to choose spending money on vacations or mortgage payments. I still have a roof over my head so you can figure
out for yourself which one I went with.
My last trip was to Costa Rica.
Man, I miss Costa Rica. *sigh*
Lately though, I’ve had this
flowering in my belly, a feeling I haven’t had in a Koon’s age (once again, how
long is a Koon’s age anyhow?). No, it’s
not indigestion, screw you for even thinking it. Rather it’s knowing that life is going to
change…soon. Recently, I must admit, I’ve
given up on anything good happening to me.
I try to keep faith alive, know that nothing stays status quo but it’s
hard to convince oneself of all that when days slip into months into a year and
the same mental hell you’ve been languishing in doesn’t in the least dissipate. That’s been me. Oh, I interact with the world, smile, laugh,
talk, debate, whatever, but I’m oddly disconnected in my head as I see the
universe and wonder how it is that everyone else has a purpose but not
myself? And regardless of all the
techniques I’ve employed to break out of this mental cage, nothing has
worked. Nothing at all. I know me well enough though to recognize
that until I’m ready for it, things will continue to remain the same until one
day some internal flip switches based on an intuition or a feeling or whatever
other such nonsense and then? I’ll
stride forward, not just step.
Folks, change, it has arrived in
my life and about damn time too. And
while I feel like I do not need to identify these changes to y’all (yet) one
thing I can definitely say is that the traveling bug has decided to take a
chunk out of mah bootay, and it hurts sooooo good. The only real ouchy part? That I can’t book the very next flight out of
Dulles International Airport to some far away destination at this very moment,
like right now! Waiting is torture and
while being patient has never been a characteristic that I was inherently born
with, through the years I’ve been able to master the art and this has
definitely come in handy for most of my life, most particularly recently. Right now I have to remind myself that if I
can hold my shiz together this long, what’s a few more months, right?
“While you wait, what’s wrong
with a little fantasizing,” is what I say to myself in soothing, almost
placating tones to the inner brat that’s itching to swipe a credit card. I have
to do this all the time. I have an
outstanding sense of self-destruction and if I didn’t talk myself out of doing
half the things I want to do…phew, I can’t imagine what would have happened to
me by now. I’m sure I would have lost a
limb or an eye or something. So yea,
fantasies…
The first place I plan to hop the
pond for is Germany and straight into the awaiting arms of my bestie. The week that I had visited her two years ago
had been the most relaxing, chill, fun time I’ve had on vacation in…well in
about forever. I plan to make that
happen again ASAP. After that, who knows
because the options are limitless, aren’t they?
The world is my oyster, as cliché as that sounds (stop rolling your
eyes) and I’m about to consume all of it (way weird visual, I know).
I was speaking of my need/want to
travel, bust out of my self-imposed prison, cut loose and run free to a dear
friend yesterday who in turn had been curious as to where I wanted to go and I
realized that true to form, my spirit was essentially all over the place. And here are snippets of the places I
mentioned to him and why I wanted to go there (and a few more that I’ve thrown
in for good measure for the purposes of this blog entry):
Morocco: Because I want to wander
through the winding roads of the souk. To
smell the air heavily laced with spices, the haunting music of the night as I
sit and drink tea laced with mint while having hookah at a café and talking
about philosophy.
Turkey: For the same reasons but
also to pray at the Blue Mosque, and hear the call for prayers. To gaze at the jewel colored lanterns and
capture the pictures of the native folks as they walk by with cigarettes
dangling from their mouths, laughing, chattering in a language I cannot
identify.
Egypt: To gaze at the wonder of the pyramid and
stroll through the museums to gape at ancient artifacts. Maybe ride a camel, find some archeological
wonder (or not), take a cruise down the Nile at night. Feel the heat of the sun toasting my skin
darker than it is as I lounge under a palm tree and bite on plump dates (the
fruit).
New Zealand: To gape at the
mountains and rolling greens, imagining what Middle Earth would be like.
Brussels: Just to taste chocolate.
Belgium: To consume waffles.
English country side: To wander
through old decrepit castles.
Bora Bora: To lay on a hammock in
a hut on stilts over a blue ocean.
Dubai: To zip to the top of the
tallest hotel in the world.
HK: To go back to the night
markets so that I can once again haggle with the women there and taste foods
that seem sketchy at best but smell heavenly.
Iceland: To swim in the Blue
Lagoon for someone told me it’s heavenly.
Australia: To cuddle a Koala and
never ever try vegemite.
India: A country that I have yet
to discover even if my roots grow from there as much as Bangladesh. Goa, Mumbai, Rajasthan, Dehradun, the Taj,
Red Fort, endless beaches, Hyderabadi Biriyani and fresh coconut juice sipped
out of the hull. These things all await.
Any Island: To laze in the sun,
sipping a cocktail while listening to the surf break against the sand and
ignore all of humanity.
Switzerland: To tumble down the side of mountain as I try
to ski again (subsequently being thoroughly unsuccessful), maybe pick up a
clock while I’m at it (of course not while I’m snowballing down the slopes).
Ireland: To gaze at the beautiful
swaying heather and hope that Brigadoon will appear amongst the mist.
Germany: To pick Edelweiss while pretending I’m Maria von
Trapp and sing at the top of my lungs “the hillsssssssssssssssss are
aliveeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee….”
Peru: To hike the Inca Trail and take selfies at
Machu Picchu because everyone needs at least one selfie there.
And the list goes on and on and
on. The possibilities endless, and the
need to travel like a sirens call. For a
second I remembered the movie “Eat, Pray, Love” and thought, I want to do
something like that. But then discarded
that idea fairly quickly. First, I’ll
never have that much disposable cash to indulge in such a trip and second, but
most importantly, while I love to travel, it makes the adventure so much
sweeter when one can come home eventually.
I aspire to be that aunt (since I have no kids of my own) who is
traveling around the world and comes home to them loaded down with gifts,
stories and the smell of adventure hanging around her. I want to make their eyes go large and round
with wonder as I paint pictures in the blank canvases of their minds eye so
that they practically can see what I’ve seen, smell what I’ve smelled, taste
what I’ve tasted. More than anything I
want to be the person to inspire the next generation to also seek out escapades
of their own, to create their own diaries, online or otherwise, that is chalk
full of memories to carry into old age and to be able to smile and say, “I was
there…”.
So yea, hopefully before long I’ll
not just have this blog, but also one dedicated to all future journeys full of
places and sounds and people that I’ve chanced upon. I can’t wait!
First step though? Get employed.
Right.
