Everyone Deserves a Good Cry in the Airplane Lavatory

My journey to India was long and is now one big blur. I took some notes while traveling so I could write about them here. My story begins when I arrived in Chicago. I had the expectation that I would sit in Chicago and work on some emails for a few hours. I was very wrong. I learned very quickly to have no expectations. I am going to follow this mantra for the rest of my trip.

In Chicago, I had to transfer to the international terminal. Arriving there, I became aware that my flight to Frankfurt was on Air India. Immediately I was warped into India mode. 95% of the flights passengers were Indians returning home. Finding and taking the tram to the international terminal had eaten up a considerable amount of my layover time. Now the check in line was using up the rest. I stood alone among families with young children, elderly couples, and business men. It took over an hour to get my boarding pass and pass through security. By the time I got to the gate they were making the final call, and they did not want me to use my cell phone on the plane. I had about two minutes to call Kayla and Ben. I felt very overwhelmed. I couldn’t even get my words out when talking to Ben; each attempt to speak brought me closer to tears. For the first time since leaving Chapel Hill I started to question my decision.

Once on the plane I realized I was sitting in the last compartment. I hate sitting in the back of the plane. To make matters worse, I had the middle seat. I felt alone and scared in a sea of foreign faces. I wondered how I would get through two 8 hour flights and a 9 hour layover in Mumbai, let alone my actual experience in India. I started to freak out. I wanted to cry but I was embarrassed about crying in front of my neighbors. The man to my right tried to talk with me but gave up after a few minutes when he could see I was clearly upset. I tried to find something, anything, to make me feel better. There were small children everywhere (my compartment was decidedly the family section) and listening to their excited voices was soothing. "Mommy, mommy we are in the sky," said one little boy after takeoff. It made me smile.

I fell asleep and lost track of time. When I woke up I felt awful. I wanted to come home. I started devising ways in which I could turn back in Frankfurt. The man to my right laughed at the Indian comedy he was watching in the seatback personal TV’s. I tried to use his laughter to calm down, but it wasn’t working. It only made me feel more detached. I was becoming choked up. The snacks came and they were spicy dried lentils. I flipped the package around in my hands. Where were the peanuts and pretzels? I became sure that my internship was over. I was determined to turn around in Frankfurt.

But then, the woman to my left said, “Try the lentils, they are not too spicy”. I didn't know I was being watched. At my UNC study aboard orientation we were told to try everything so I gave in to her suggestion. I tried a few, they weren't bad. Still, I was set on finding a way out and returning to Chapel Hill. I started to tear up. Crying in my seat was not going to happen. When I got to the lavatory it was occupied. I stood in the back of the plane and began to cry as flight attendants hurried past me preparing the upcoming meal. I tried to hide the fact that I was crying, but I'm sure they could tell. When the lavatory was free, I hopped inside and completely broke down. What was I doing? Why was I choosing to go to India for nine weeks, alone, leaving all my friends and family behind me? Did I really think I was going to make it through 48 hours of international travel completely by myself? Was I going to be comfortable in Shodhgram? I thought about Ben and how I would not see him for the rest of the summer. I hadn't cried when saying goodbye at RDU, which had been surprising to both of us given my emotional nature, but here it was, tears rushing out. I immediately regretted leaving him.

After a bit, I started to worry that someone might be waiting. My only choice was to return to my seat; I knew I had to pick myself up. And somewhere inside of me I found the strength to do just that. I took a few deep breathes, and washed my face off. My sprit was immediately lifted. I left the bathroom and confirmed with the flight attendants that we would be able to get off the plane in Frankfurt. They said we would and the woman who mainly served my row gave me an encouraging smile. I set out to return to my seat and take advantage of the neighbors who wanted to talk with me. The dinners were coming. I received my kosher meal, but was jealous of the vegetarian meals of my neighbors, a sentiment I ended up sharing with the women next to me. She insisted on sharing her dish, telling me I would have to get used to Indian food if I was going to spend the whole summer there. I didn’t tell her I already loved it. She gave me her salad, and a huge portion of her main dish- curry and rice- and also her rice pudding. I told her I did not want to take her food from her, but she insisted, just like a Jewish grandmother. We started talking about my trip and what I was doing. She told me she had lived in the US for 30 years and was a US citizen, but occasionally returned to India. Last year she had an extended stay when her mother became ill and passed away. Now she was returning to live in Goa, at the beach, for a year. I felt cared for. This woman had obviously noticed I was nervous and anxious at the beginning of the flight, and now she was looking after me. I had already let out my emotion by crying in the bathroom and now I no longer felt alone. I had a friend, a buddy, for the flight. I decided I would not turn around in Frankfurt.