A young and academically
educated woman gets on plane to fly more than 27 hours across the oceans to
live with her sister in Australia. Lack
of knowledge in English, cultural shock, poor choices of words and desperate
efforts to look and sound as sophisticated as she use to be back in her small
European country take her to a great journey of learning the language and the
new life – just like going through another childhood, …under some circumcision
circumstances…
UP IN THE AIR
“Excuse me
please,” those were the only words I could remember in English. The flight hostess and the rest of the
passengers seemed oblivious to my cry for help to find the sick bag. Maybe I was too far – at the back of the
plane, stuck between the plane window and some surfer.
“I need a seat
next to the window,” I demanded from the travel agent few months back. “I get sick.
I’ll take the trip better if I’m next to the window – I can see the
road.” Was it my demand or the
explanation that follow, the agent rolled her eyes and gave me a window seat.
Actually, I
had more English words in my pockets, but I couldn’t find them. My sister, she knew my stomach will churn
during the endless flight from Europe to Australia and wrote in transliteration
how to ask for help. Damn it – it’s not
in the jacket! Not in the jeans, not in
the handbag... Ah, there you are –
together with the “Validol” tablets.
Those I take just in case I suffer from something. Panic attack, inflamed tonsils,
constipation… A-NY-THING can happen to
me when we are up in the skies. Now,
what I was supposed to say to the hostess before I scatter my guts around? Aha, here it was: “I feel dizzy”.
And just to be
in harmony with my sick stomach, the skies turned turbulent. Lashing rain was whipping the window. Only when lightning flashed, I could see the
blizzard pelting. We were flying in the
middle of a tropical storm. Oh my! Oh dear! I’ll call the hostess! What was I telling her? “I feel dizzy”. Right!
Can’t forget it!
“Are you done
with yours?” asked my neighbour pointing at my meal, still untouched on the
tray. He was chewing some salted peanuts
like a cud. I didn’t think I can take
the smell of crunched peanuts, greasy dreads sticking from his beanie, the tang
of rubber thongs and… ah, wait a moment – was he wearing shorts? I tossed my tray into his lap and jumped from
my seat to call the uncatchable hostess.
The storm, thundering in rhythm with the thumping rain, drowned my
words. The droning and the rocking of
the plane were like if I was sitting on the top of a spinning washing machine…
“You’ve been
calling?” somebody from behind reproached.
“Oh,” I sighed
with relief to see the hostess.
“Excuse
me,” I recited with the last yellow-white colour left on my face searching in
my mind for the memorised words, “I feel busy!”…
Come fly with me again,
Sophia
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