So, this is Part 4 of my story. I wanted to go ahead and jump right into it, since Part 3 was so Grimm. If you haven’t read the previous posts, which were the hardest ones for me to share, you can start with Part 1 here http://blog.craftycutie.com/my-story/the-beginning-of-my-story/
Okay, where was I? Oh yes, I’m a hardened 13 year old girl whose poor parents have no idea what to do with. They don’t know about my mental anguish, or how to keep me away from my negative social life OR what to do with my REBELLIOUS “acttitude” (you know, the way I was acting in response to my attitude).
Well, they decided to ship me off to my Aunt and Uncle’s house, who lived in Ecuador. As in the Republic of Ecuador, in South America. Not America like U.S.A, but SOUTH America, which is located on an entirely different continent!
Needless to say, I was shocked by the whole thing, but able to remain calm. When I arrived at the airport I felt confident and un-phased as I boarded the plane. Although I was off to an unfamiliar land, I figured life would basically return to business as usual.
Well, I was wrong! I had no idea how dramatically different things would be for me. My plane landed and as soon as I got off, I became overwhelmed with confusion. The moment I stepped foot on Ecuadorian land, my whole concept of reality changed.
First of all, what I consider a small, kind of wimpy airport in America, was like Godzilla (or Godzirra 😉 compared to the “airport” I landed in Ecuador. Believe it or not, there was no Starbucks, oh wait…what am I talking about? There was NOTHING there.
This airport, was nothing more than a big metal building, with a rustic attempt at a floor. Within its lonely, and raw walls, I only noticed one memorable piece of furniture. What?!? No lounge area, no gates, no terminals, no division in foot traffic. What?!?
I was accustomed to the super sized, go big or go home mentality, with extravagant airports. The kind of airports which cradle miniature malls within their giant concrete walls. Where you can find the biggest vending machines on planet earth.
Vending machines, that are way bigger than any adult I know. Hi-tech machines, that now offer conveniently sized electronic devices and accessories to big kids. You know, those adults looking to treat their inner child to a luxury toy like an i-pod or whatever.
Rant: Really America, you can’t just wait until you get home to buy yourself some fancy high tech device! You have to spend your money now and buy it from a vending machine! Gone are the days, when a candy bar or a soda, were a big splurge.
Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes, American airports. Concrete walls wrapped around mini malls, fully equipped with franchise restaurants and of course, at least one Starbucks and/or a Cinnabon, if you’re lucky (Oh man, I can smell that 879 calorie “Classic” now).
An airport is a one stop shop for gifts, snacks, drinks, reading material, a shoe shine, massage, a buzzed mind and a full belly. Where you can also view impressive art as you are electronically transported by an escalator. Mediocre extravagance at its finest.
That is the kind of magically surreal experience I associated with the word airport. I thought of it as a place where you could arrive exhausted, with nothing but a credit card and leave fully caffeinated, with a wardrobe and matching suit case.
As my brain scrambled, trying to make sense of things, it zoned in on the only memorable piece of furniture. It was a tall, long countertop, covered in suitcases being searched by security guards. I began to feel a sense of panic, and reality set in.
Unsure of where to go, I tightened the grip on my suitcase and timidly approached the first husky guard. Much to my surprise, he nodded me forward, in the direction of the exit. I willingly took his direction and felt free as I walked through the door.
Once I reached the outside waiting area, my sense of relief was quickly returned to panic. As soon as I walked through the door I was visually bombarded by a multitude of people. They were grabbing hold of a tall, chain link fence, looking in on me.
Each face just as unfamiliar as the situation I found myself in. Fortunately, a voice from the crowd yelled out a familiar name, Tania (or maybe it was Tani, which is what my aunt calls me). I proceeded in the direction from which I heard my name, and she found me.
She, was my Aunt, my Tia, the most incredible and humble soul I’ve ever met. A grown woman with stars in her eyes, which shined as bright as her smile. I was overwhelmed by the love I instantly felt from her, someone who didn’t even “know” me.
It became instantly obvious to me, that everything I was accustomed to in America was gone. My Ecuadorian experience this far, was beyond the grasp of my comprehension. I accepted this fact and stopped resisting the feeling of being out of my element.
This was a timely decision on my part, considering what came next. My Tia, walked me to a friends dusty, old truck. She got in the back of it and motioned for me to get in the truck bed as well. I was confused, as this was against the law in America.
I went against what I knew and listened to the instruction of my new care giver. I jumped in the back and plopped down next to my Tia. The driver started the truck and I grabbed onto my suitcase. We hit the dirt road and the airport disappeared, behind a dust cloud.
To be continued…..
Wishing you smiles and sunshine,
P.S. I would love to hear your thoughts <3