ADVENTURE CONTINUES: INDIAN BEAUTY AND CARMEN AND JOSE
The day is long, I woke up at 2:15 am, took a long bus ride on Megabus from Iowa City to Union Station followed with a ride on blue line. At 9 am, I am at O'hare. However, I couldn't have done it in any other way. I am glad I witnessed the stunning sunrise, no photograph could do justice to. But more is awaiting me at O'hare; next sweet human experience! As i get off the blue line that brought me from Union station to O'hare, I see a woman in green attire, just like that of an OR nurse or intensive care unit staff. She is walking fast, apparently in a hurry. My spontaneous attention catches glimpses of her with curiosity about who she might be, what this hospital attire is about at an airport at this hour. She disappears around a corner and I am looking for a comfortable place to rest till my check-in time. After taking couple of turns in my pursuit, I decide to use the restroom before settling down at a comfortable cafe.
Aha, there she is, in the restroom! As I move to the toilet, I notice she is taking out a hair curling iron out of her purse. I am now really curious, already creating all kinds of scenarios in my mind. The most plausible feels like "she works at a hospital and has an additional job at the airport to make ends meet, and she is getting ready for her weekend job." I am content with this scenario... As I wash my hands, our eyes meet for a split second, when I see that she is curling her hair with nimble, experienced hand movements. She welcomes our connection with a sweet smile that enlightens her naturally shimmering dark skin (Is she Indian, is she Pakistani?). She is eager to talk in fact... She volunteers "trying to give some shape to my hair before I fly.". OK... scenario changed. Her second job may be flying as a stewardess, is it? No it is not... She is talkative, would like to share her story and I am eager to listen...
To sum up, she is flying to Dallas to the wedding of one of her best friends. She is indeed Indian (I figured that out as soon as she started talking), and after doing her hair, she will put on her sari before catching her flight. Oh, by the way, she is an intern in internal medicine, she was on call the night before, that is why she had to rush to the airport in her green scrap suits. Despite having had a rough night, she is still smiling, she is energetic, and clearly enthusiastic about the day lying ahead of her. What a treasure to be young and look forward to such a long day after a rough call at the hospital... I recall how I was able to do the exact same thing in my twenties during my first residency in pediatrics in Turkey, whereas, when I had to repeat residency in NYC 10 years later in my late 30s-early 40s, all I wanted to do after a call was to go home and sleep...
When I reveal to her why I was asking all kinds of questions about her attire in my mind clearly recognizing the significance of it, her smile covers her entire face, making her even more beautiful than she already is. Hearing that I am a pediatrician, she almost sinks into her skin with much more peace, she knows now that I fully understand all she has told me and all that she has not, all the difficulties and rewards of being a resident, this green clothing becoming one's skin for 3-4 years, personal gratifications being scattered into the demands of what you need to do to help people, to heal people, rewards of saving lives, touching people's lives, among lots more... I wish her to have a most wonderful weekend and give my best wishes to her friend for her future life. She smiles even bigger and tells me "Nice to meet you..." I can feel just as she has brightened my day, our conversation also will continue brightening hers hopefully taking away just a bit of the exhaustion she came to O'hare with. I sense, just as I will tell this encounter to my daughter in Spain, she will tell it from her perspective to her friends in Dallas....
Later in the afternoon, I move to my gate having had a lovely breakfast at a corner cafe. How could I know adventure would continue, indeed. As I wait at the gate, there came a lady in wheel chair. Her hands are donned with hyperpigmentation, coupled with the fact that she needs a wheelchair revealing she probably is older than I. Curiously, I look at my hands, no hyperpigmentation, yet. However, my hair is silver since I stopped dying my hair for the last year, and her face and hair (red) tells me otherwise; which one is telling the truth, hands or face/hair? She is seated by her help right next to me and we try to exchange couple of words regarding our flight. However, it turns out her English is worse than my almost non-existent Spanish. At the end she asks me my seat number. It turns out there is only one seat between the two of us she has 15J and I 15L. We smile in the universal language and wish each other a good flight in our language of fluency knowing exactly what the other party was uttering.
When I finally board the aircraft I discover to my pleasant surprise that we actually are sitting next to each other. I like that since she clearly has a positive energy about her, with a friendly smile and eagerness to chat with whatever tools she has. The only disappointment I have is that my seat is a window seat and she, due to her illnesses wants to keep her aisle seat. The first half of the trip we both either watch a movie or sleep or read. However, during the second half when she is having difficulty getting her movie on the screen I help her a bit and in Spanish heavily supported with body language of course, she makes a comment about my fingertips being magic! and she does that in Spanish, but I understand what she means... We both chuckle, I practice my gracias with Castellano pronunciation "grathias"...
Once we are done watching our movies, she is inclined to talk more. English, Spanish, mathematical, sign and body language, we use it all as appropriate. Whenever we need big numbers, we write them down, makes communication easier, but i get her to pronounce them, too so that I recall them one more time for my upcoming week in Spain. Her name is Carmen, somehow she is amazed with my name and surprised that she had never heard it before. As soon as she learns I am originally from Turkey, she animatedly starts going on and on about Istanbul that she had visited earlier; with its Aghia Sophia, Blue Mosque, and its history. We gossip a bit about how much history there is in Europe and Asia compared to America. I am mesmerized with how much individuals from the old world pride over that when we all know that most of the history in the old world that has been left to contemporary times in fact is the history of the ruling classes of the old times, the imperial powers when the masses were suffering from hunger, torture, diseases, poverty of unimaginable degrees, yet, we contemporaries still pride over that when those "treasures" reside on our land... something, i just couldn't acquire, yet... I see history wherever it is, whoever owns it today as belonging to the world and its cumulative peoples. We thus, agree upon the fact that Americas' native history in fact was not preserved as well by the Europeans that invaded Americas, who almost decimated the native populations and their cultures.
She walks me through the map of Spain on the screen and tells me about where she grew up, a most Castellano town (that I understand both in her spoken and unspoken language). she tells me she has three daughters, two living in different cities of Spain, one in Chicago for the last year, in fact she is returning from her first visit to Chicago. I tell her about my daughter being in Seville for the last week and our vacation plan in Andalusia. She is very excited that we are planning to go to Cordoba, of course none of us knows at this time what will follow us in Andalusia, which will change our travel plans drastically.
She starts telling me about how Cordoba is her most favorite city, the history of which was a spiraling mixture of Moore, Jewish, and Christian cultures, just as I read in my SteveRicks book. Although she sounds like she is celebrating the diversity in Cordoba, at some point, she also complains about the amount of "it is a lot" immigration by Moroccans to Andalusia. Later on, she also states, where she lives around Madrid, 15 years ago there was no "negro" and now there is a lot. I wonder if underneath the surface in this 72 year-old Castellan woman is a bit of discrimination if not racism... When she tells me in writing she is 72, I am stunned, I could have never guessed that. She tells me about her ailments, isn't this a doctor's fate while traveling if you disclose your professional background. She has fatty liver and one of her kidneys was removed due to nephrocarcinoma, she had varicose veins that limited her mobility. worst of all, her husband, who was a very "bueno" man had died 5 years ago. We exchange very empathetic glances and words. I touch her arm in a sisterly way, I can tell she appreciates that.
When she talks about her husband and her, she chuckles "just like in the opera "jose and carmen"". I tell her about my partner's passing away almost 4 years ago and now having a new partner for the last year looking at her in a way to instill hope in her, or perhaps see if there was any desire to seek such a chance for herself. No, there is none in her eyes and in her words there is none, either. She looks at me and says "but you are young". Yes, 17 years younger than her. My heart goes to her. It was very sad for me to lose my partner after being together for 8 years. I can't imagine how it must feel like to lose a partner after having spent 30-40-50 years together. I wonder if it feels like your skin is peeled off of you having learned what is behind every word, every gesture, every look of a person... And how does one come to peace with his/her new life without that, with whom one has identified him/herself for many decades... Recognizing I am getting too philosophical again, I gently bring my attention back to Carmen.
When she says "but you are young" there is no resentment in her eyes or voice. All I sense is peaceful resolve with where she is and what she could expect from life now. That is good I resolve, she is happy, I could tell from the enormous amount of positive energy she irradiated throughout our journey together till the last minute. Since my connection time is very short, we say our good byes before parking at the gate and I rush out. However, about ten minutes after I get in line for passport control, I hear somebody yelling "bueno vieja", turn to look at who is wishing "have a good trip" to whom. It is dear Carmen, in her wheel chair, half rising over her seat to get my attention, with a big, big smile, sparks in her eyes, waving at me... I wave back with as big a smile on my face and yell back "Gracias Carmen, para todos..." She disappears in the crowd again injecting my exhausted body with positive awakening energy to soon meet my lovely, sweet daughter...
No comments:
Post a Comment