Passing By
I waited in line at the Gate, surrounded by urgent-looking passengers, nonchalantly grasping my slightly bloated Nike satchel. The attendants glanced at my boarding pass and waved me on into the crowded corridor that led to the plane where I would be spending the next 10 or so hours. I tried not to think about it. After a quick check of the contents of my bag, Hong Kong's airport security waved me on and I marched into the plane. After a short time of slow shuffling and squeezing past other passengers, I found my way to a window seat in the midsection of the cabin. Both outer seats were unoccupied. I thrust my bag underneath the seat in front of me and settled down to wait for take off...Whenever I sit alone on a plane (or at least when I had done so before) I am almost invariably always seated next to an old or middle-aged male who has a tendency to completely ignore me and focus on studying the contents of the wall street journal. They always looked respectable enough, but made for poor conversation. I expected nothing different from this flight. I was surprised then, when a girl around my age walked up to my row and dropped a black bag on the seat next to mine.
She stood there for awhile, clutching the handle of a small red piece of luggage, looking around uncertainly. Abortively, she attempted to lift the luggage into the overhead cabins, but for some reason, stopped midway. I might've moved to help her then, but a voice within me counseled, "mind your own business, Jeremy, don't be Ke Poh". Next to us, a pair of chinese girls struggling with their own luggage were aided by a middle-aged chinese man. As if encouraged by this, the girl attempted once again to lift her red bag into the overhead cabin, for a moment looking like she would crumble under the weight of it. Seeing this, I shrugged off the voice within me, dropped my sudoku, and helped her push the bag into the cabin... feeling like a very pompous idiot all the while.
She smiled at me and we both settled down in our seats, and before long, the not-so-boring flight began.
She was a mainlander from Shenzhen, taking the flight to start her studies at a High School in Kansas City. She knew barely a word of english and was convinced that the best remedy for it would be to go abroad and study in America. Our exchanges where short and often involved me translating the captain's messages, or her requests for a coke. I tried to explain in mandarin that I was headed to Minneapolis for my second year in College, but couldn't quite do it as I didn't know what Minneapolis was in mandarin. She offered an earphone and played some music. I returned the favor later, playing some Wu Yue Tian in a vain attempt to show that I wasn't completely out of touch with modern Chinese culture. She offered me skittles and I offered her the Tau Sah Bing that my mother had given me. And after several such exchanges, long periods of napping and some confused conversation with a flight attendent over some customs form, we arrived in Chicago's O'Hare airport.
We walked out of the plane together, she insisting that we stick together since she couldn't read any of the signs. We walked to the long que from Chicago's customs and she began fumbling with the various immigration forms she couldn't quite read. I translated the instructions of the mexican immigration officer, helping her fill the forms out while she struggled with her red luggage and a black pen. We finally got to the customs officer and I went first. After the usual procedures, the officer waved me on, I stopped and told her how the Chinese girl behind me (we were directed to the same que) couldn't speak english. I was then enlisted to translate and stood there for another 5 or 10 minutes, translating instructions, afterwich, we both got out of customs and went to wait for our bags.
We picked the bags up after around half-an-hour and proceded through to the train system that connected Chicago's international and domestic terminals. Along the way, it came out that she was a Christian. I told her I was one too, and she responded with mild surprise and glee. She confessed that as she was waiting to get on the plane, she had been praying that she would meet someone who could help her since she couldn't speak english. I could only smile and nod.
I cleared domestic customs with 10 minutes to go till my flight for Minneapolis left. I looked back to where she was in the que, she pointed to her watch and waved at me to go, I smiled, waved back and ran off and that was that.
Her name, as it was written on the I-94, was Fan Suli, I don't think she ever got mine...
We were passers by in each others lives, doomed perhaps to never cross paths again. Maybe it was a meeting arranged by a Higher power, to help a friendless girl get through American immigrations. Maybe it was nothing more than a convenient chance encounter.
Whatever it was, I need to improve my chinese...
So said Aerasio at 06:29
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