On planes, I am incapable of falling asleep. No matter how tired I get, my body is never able to shut itself down. Thus allowing my mind to wander. I love people. They fascinate me to no end. When I sit on planes, I like to think up a storyline in my head of the people around me based off of the information they give me, or something of my own. I often wonder what becomes of them.
Did the man behind me on my flight to Paris ever start the gym he wanted to start?
Did the missionary have a successful trip?
Last time I sat next to a Ghanian man on my way home form Ghana. He was large. And when I say large, I don't mean overweight like your average American. I mean big-boned, tall, and not fit to sit in one of those tiny airplane seats. He could not even get the tray to go down when the flight attendant brought dinner around. On any other occasion, I would have dismissed him and dove into my book. But after spending three weeks in Ghana, I was more up for conversation. I knew that it is not easy for Ghanians to travel out of the country, and by the looks of him and his attire, I could tell he was not from America. I was dying to know where he was going, why he was leaving, who he was traveling to. I was just about to let my daydreams take me away when he read my mind. He volunteered a plentiful amount of information. He was born in Ghana, but moved to New York nine years ago with his aunt to work. He was late twenties. He had an 11-year-old daughter in Ghana who he had not seen since he left in the first place. I didn't ask who was caring for her. I knew it is normal to have other people raise your children. The only reason he went home was for a relative's funeral, and he was heartbroken to see his daughter had aged so much. He said she cried and begged him to stay. He explained, "Ever since I left her yesterday, I have not felt well." I cannot imagine it being easy for him. Hours later I caught his eye on my phone as I was playing Candy Crush. He asked me what my high score was. He said if he goes a day without playing, he feels sick. On that note, he pulled out his phone and started crushing away. We sat for hours playing Candy Crush in silence, picking at the airplane food, and watching our own movies. We were thinking the same things and sharing the same air for ten hours. We did not talk much, but we were somehow... connected. Surely we were an interesting combination at glance. A big Ghanian man next to a scrawny American girl.
Why does this settle in my mind?
There is too much hate in the world. At the end of the day, we're all just humans. Why is it that I can connect so simply with a complete stranger sharing a completely different background than me, but people from my country continue to have so many racist views? There's too much pessimism. Not enough trust. Airplanes are one of the few places where everyone is almost at one. Everyone is going the same place, but completely different people, different stories, different backgrounds. For that specific amount of time, everyone is forced to sit, unable to get off, and just... be.
When the plane landed, I explained to him where/why I was in Ghana. He sympathized for people in the region I was in. He grew up in a far better area. He was very different than what I had imagined. And that was it. I stood up, went my way, and he his own. I'll never see him again, but I can't help but wonder where his life will take him.
