UnconsciousFeelings

I close my eyes and pray for my headache to go away. And yes, I pray, I believe in God, even though I know I no longer have any right to ask Him for anything. I feel myself getting sleepy and I look for a place on the cold window, which brings some relief to the pain, but I can’t last long. The vibrations are too strong, and I try to find something else to lean on, even if just a little. I open the table in front of me and rest my head on my clasped hands. It feels a bit better, and I let myself be carried away by my thoughts.

A pain behind my ear competes with my migraine. I put my hand up and pull at the mask’s elastic, not too much because I don’t want to draw anyone’s attention for not wearing it properly. I look at the clock, and although it feels like an eternity to me, not even an hour has passed. I close the table and open my eyes. There’s no point in trying to sleep; the headache will only get worse.

I start to look around me. The person next to me is sleeping or at least it seems that way, and the one next to her is looking at photos on their phone. There are probably dozens of pictures of herself that she’s now analysing. I quickly judge how someone can analyse photos of just themselves when I can barely stand to look in the mirror for more than a minute. Probably I judge because I feel a seed of jealousy.

Behind me, I hear two voices engaged in conversation. Just what I needed, someone to chatter the whole trip. It might not be a bad idea to eavesdrop and distract myself from the pain.

“My leg hurts, but I decided to try. I went home and redecorated a bathroom, and as I moved around the house cleaning up the mess, I ended up with this swollen ankle. It’s not hard where I’m going; I take care of a lady. I don’t think I’ll manage to stay the whole month, but I’ll try. Where are you going?”

Of course, I turn my head to better understand who is talking to whom and see a woman, just past her youth, not exactly slim, sitting in an aisle seat and talking to the woman across from her. I quickly think that the extra weight won’t help her much with her ankle.

“I’m going to Verona, I’ve been in Italy for many years, I have my own secure place. I went home to change the flooring in the living room; otherwise, I wouldn’t have come. I’m tired of these trips. It’s better with my old lady in peace. I’m doing well. I take her for walks, cook what I want, and don’t have the noise from home. Since the pandemic, my husband is always at home, and you know what I mean, we’re stepping on each other’s toes.”

I hear them continue talking about family, recent weddings, baptisms, expenses, and then back again to the luck they’ve had to get such good jobs.

Just what I needed, two women bragging about their jobs and home renovations.

I turn my head once more, curious about the second person. A woman, I presume, of the same age as the first, but much more groomed. The way she held one leg intensely in the aisle, plus her hand full of rings often going to her hair, made me label her as someone full of herself.

Suddenly, we’re told to prepare for landing, and I thank my lucky stars that the trip wasn’t too long. Reality hits me. I’ll have to hurry to catch the next flight.

The seatbelt sign goes off, and I quickly gather my things and stand up. The two women are already ahead of me. I observe the second woman better as she continues to talk, now gesticulating broadly and with great importance.

How proud can you be to leave home for a new floor or a renovated bathroom, I wonder to myself.

I quickly snap out of judging others when my situation isn’t much different from theirs. Just because I chose a different country to immigrate to than they did doesn’t mean I’m superior. The only difference between me and them is that I chose to call the country I immigrated to, my home.