Conversations Passing By

C o n v e r sat i o n s Pas s i n g By Imagine you are an airplane and a happy, peaceful, successful adulthood is the final destination, and life’s lessons are the turbulence.

Fatima Alkabsh

I could tell you that moving across the Atlantic Ocean to a new continent shaped my life forever and defined the person I am today. However, things are a little blurry, or to clarify, my memories of anything before that plane ride are. Maybe my three year old brain was to blame or the fault lies with the stewardess that gave me a Big Bird toy, which held all my attention. Moving at that time held no value for me, I was a child with no understanding of why this was happening or if I should care.

Even before knowing what the purpose of a plane was, I was yelling at planes in the sky that went over the countryside where I used to call home, making promises of one day riding on one, or so my mother said.

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After moving to the U.S. I had no recollection of what life was like back where I came from. It seemed my memories vividly recall being on a plane, but nothing before that.

By not remembering the years I was living in Yemen, I was able to live in Oakland, California without comparing, or feeling as if my life was dramatically altered after we moved to California. That was the best thing about moving during my childhood. It is easier to look at the new place I was headed rather than what I was leaving.

Throughout my childhood, my family consistently moved around. Moving the first time was normal for me, the second time was a slight annoyance, but the third time was the charm.

September, 2002 I woke up to the house trembling, surely it couldn’t be them already? I climbed out of bed and peeped through the partly drawn curtains. It was them all right, a day earlier than expected, such a nuisance. I opened the window and was greeted by a view of chaos. It was hard to believe, in just an hour we would be on our way. I felt the house lurch forward and stop abruptly. I felt the house lurch again and then it seemed to drift upwards, slowly to begin with and then with such speed I was forced to hang on to the edge of the bed. Everything came to a sudden halt with a loud bang and a final shudder. Looking out the window again, the view had changed completely. Gone were the normal everyday scenes I was used to seeing. The front garden had gone, my neighbors going about their early morning routines –all gone.

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“Be Careful! We can”t afford to damage anything. On the count of three make sure the foundations are free and start beaming it on board. One, two.....”

The day we moved from California, I felt that I didn’t lose the place I called my childhood. At ten years old, I knew what it meant when my parents said to pack up. They didn’t need any silly excuses, we had done it three years earlier and four years prior to that, but this time I was ready. I didn’t fight to stay or to keep the tree swing in the back yard. The trip was not by plane this time, but by car. That meant four days of open roads and four nights of hotel service.

Yes! Free cable was all that I needed.

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O n the s tar t of t h e t h i rd da y of dr i v i n g, we g ot caug ht in he av y w in d a n d ra i n w h i l e dr i v i n g t h roug h Wy oming .

My d ad and u n c le t h o u ght i t wo u l d be best to stop at a g as s tatio n u nt i l t h e we at h e r c le a re d up a little. To me , it d id n’t s e e m l i ke t h o s e bi g gra y c loud s were leaving an ytim e s o o n s o I a s ke d t o go i n th e g as station w hich had a s m a l l c afé o n t h e s i de . I wasn’t th e only o n e w ith that i de a be c a u s e t h e w h o le café was filled w ith trave l e rs a n d lo c a ls a s we ll. Wh i le waiting for th e s to rm to p a s s , s t o r i e s of t h i s a n d t h at filled th e air in that cafe . Si l e nt l y li s t e n i n g wa s a n exp erience th at o p e ne d new v i ews of t h e wo r l d t o m y o h so eag er b rain.

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“ i want that one” “how are the kids” “ g o u p t h a t w a y, a n d l e f t . . . . ” “just passing by ”

Each time we stopped at a gas station or rest stop someone had a story to tell. Sometimes I learned more about the people I met in those moments than others in a community who I’ve lived with for years. in the small town of Torrington Wyoming, with the smell of beet plant and cattle that added distinct aromas to the town, one person that stood out was an old man probably around his fifties, which felt grandpa-old to me at that particular time. I sat in the booth next to him, and he turned around and asked how old I was. I told him I was ten, and with that he decided to tell us his story.

At the age of nine he lost his mother to cancer and his dad had left a couple years after that, leaving him to take care of his two siblings as they got shuffled through foster care. His story struck a chord within me, since I experienced losing my mother at a young age as well. I remember being really moved as he told us about his life in awful foster homes, saving up to go to college, and eventually becoming a moderately successful lawyer. He met his wife, and moved to Wyoming to settle down to raise a family.

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It was endearing, and it was also a good reminder that everyone’s got a story, even if it’s not immediately obvious. Through this encounter, I wanted to learn more about people’s stories and backgrounds.

With each move meant new stories. Through moving I became a well-rounded person because I was exposed to different social systems and customs.

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ter losing multiple items with each move, letting go wasn’t as hard – whether it was losing touch with people or actual objects. Sometimes, I would leave something on purpose, even if it was just my initials on the front porch. Little things made me feel as if a part of me was still physically at those places. I learned I could re-invent myself each time we moved, leaving out the bad and polishing up the good.

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The story ended, but the journey keeps going

Webster’s dictionary meaning of journey is: an act or instance of traveling from one place to another : trip _chiefly dialect : a day’s travel _something suggesting travel or passage from one place to another <the journey from youth to maturity> <a journey through time>

The people that we meet on our journey, are people that we are destined to meet. Everybody comes into our lives for some reason or another and we don’t always know their purpose until it is too late. They all play some kind of role. Some may stay for a lifetime; others may only stay for a short while. It is often the people who stay for only a short time that end up making a lasting impression not only in our lives, but in our hearts as well. Although we may not realize it at the time, they will make a difference and change our lives in a way we never could imagine. People will come and go into our lives quickly. Even though they may not always stay in our life for as long as we like, the lessons that we have learned from them and the experiences that we have gained from meeting that person, will stay with us forever. It’s these things that will give us strength to continue on with our journey. We know that we can always look back on those times of our past and know that because of that one individual, we are who we are.

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Conversations passing by is a collection of stories passed down. The blank pages behind represent someone elseâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s conversation and journey. Every day we encounter strangers and exchange pleasantries, some become more and hold a deep place in our minds, while others simply fade away after going back to your daily routine.