Into the Unknown
My sister is waiting for me at the airport in Helsinki. We haven’t seen each other since she moved there from the US two years ago.
I am wandering somewhere on the other side of those doors in the background of the photo, unable to read any signs or even decipher the word “exit.” Lots of travelers have disembarked with me, but have all turned aside to pick up checked luggage, so my little carry-on and I are left without the protective current of people who know where they’re going to help propel us toward the outside world.
There are no windows. I come to a place that has a wall made up entirely of doors. They give me a sense of foreboding. If I go through them, will an alarm sound? Is what I’m searching for on the other side? If I cross that threshold and find myself not where I’m supposed to be, will I be able to come back again? Why is there no one I can ask for help? I’m afraid of being lost.
Time slows down and life feels surreal as I walk tentatively toward the doors, eyes wide for any sign that I’m going the right direction, but in the end I have to just commit: my own Platform 9 ¾ initiation. I am deeply uncomfortable.
I walk up and push my way through the doors, and am met with a ramp falling away from me into what looks like a bustling mall. I stop like a deer in the headlights, confused, staring around for a clue about what step to take next.
And then I see her, waiting for me at the bottom of the long ramp, her face alight, calling and beckoning.
SWEET RELIEF
I stumble down the ramp: gaining momentum, bursting into tears, alarming an unfortunate man who is now regretting his decision to cross the path between my sister and me. I arrive at the bottom and Patience and I hug and cry as if we’ve been apart for thousands of years, instead of just two.
I’ve never been to this part of the world before, and I’m only at the very beginning of experiencing life and making memories in this place, but all of this is beside the point.
I’m home.