In transit: My first test and anticipation sets in

26 May 2011

12:30 AM ET

My first test happened at the Newark International Airport. I was walking leisurely to my gate, with nearly two hours to kill, when a woman standing next to the pay phones caught my eye, “¿Habla español?” This is common for me. Spanish-speakers in need always seem pick me out of the crowd of possibilities. Even when I’m at home in a city that’s known for its outstanding Latino population and I’m walking with my girlfriends – all of whom are also Latina – they come to me. They don’t ask my best friend Ely who is quite fluent. They don’t ask my best friend Natalie who probably knows more than me. And they don’t wait to ask the next Latino who is bound to cross their path in less than five seconds. They ask me.

In any case, I took this as my first chance. I told her that I spoke a little, and she conveyed that her luggage was lost in Houston. What could I do? I was barely keeping up with all of her side conversation let alone able to help her talk to a clerk. I let her use my phone to no avail on the other end. I found myself helpless. I wished her good luck and continued on my way. Now I sit here and think. Was I really right to believe that I didn’t have the ability to help her talk to a clerk? Because my immediate response was to walk back into my comfort zone and leave her, now I’ll never know. I suppose I deserve a D- on that test.

3:20 PM ET

As we lifted off from Newark, my chest swelled and my heart filled. I almost cried. Alright, who am I kidding? I did cry. Just a little, though.

I’m finally going. I’m finally going to the place that has enchanted me since I first heard of its beauty in the 8^th grade. I’m nervous. Excited. Anxious. I’m insurmountably gleeful; so much that I feel the butterflies fluttering from top to bottom.

As soon as I boarded the plane I felt like I belonged. Of course, being Hispanic plays a large role. But I can only describe it like Adair did when he once told me that he felt at home in Spain. Clean cut, techno-loving, a person with appreciation for architecture and a place that has a history of influence on the world, Adair probably did fit right in. For me, I’m not even there yet, and I know it will be the place for me. A place where I don’t have to think of the way I look – both in fashion and in skin color, a place of tradition and culture, a place of raw nature in every sense of the word, a place where everything is just a little rougher around the edges, like me. I know when I get there I’ll think of more things or perhaps less things. But this is what I anticipate.

Perhaps I’m suffering from a little of what they call in anthropology as “noble savage syndrome,” where I think that everything is better on the other side, but that’s not how I felt when I went to Greece, nor when I left Greece.

So as Louis Armstrong sings “What a Wonderful World” on the airplane playlist, I let my imagination fly away with me.

“I see skies of blue, and clouds of white. The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.”