Worst Day of My Life

It  was  the  October  of  2008,  and  my   brother and I   were  waiting  for

 our  flight  to  New York.  It  wasn’t  the  first  time  I  was  flying  by  plane  but  it  was

the  first  time  I  was  flying  alone  with  a  younger  sibling  who  was  only  thirteen

  years  old.  I  was 17  years  and  350  day  old  myself  and  I  was  glad  to  be  leaving

the  country  where I  had  survived  a  bomb  attack,  a  murder  attempt,  a  horrible  car

accident,  an accidental  poison  consumption  and  a  devastating  earthquake  that

claimed  more  than  80000  lives.  I  somehow  felt  that  leaving  Pakistan  would  be

the  best  thing that  could  ever  happened  to  me  and  that  the  land  of   opportunity

was  waiting with  open  arms.


  As  soon  as  the  announcement  was  made  for  our  flight,  we  were  the  first

to  reach  the  gates  and  I  was  hoping  that  things  would  run  smoothly  from  now

onwards.  I  was  soon  to  be  proven  wrong.   The  passengers  were  advised  to  make

two  lines  by   the  Shift  manager  of  the  Etihad  Airways  and  these  lines  consisted

of  the  passengers  traveling  alone  and  the  ones  who  were  traveling  with  their

family.  We  chose  to  remain  in  the  family  line  as  I  believed  we  qualified  to  be  a

family.  A  security  person  objected  to  us  brothers  standing   in  the  family  line  and

asked  us  very  rudely  to  move  towards  the  singles  line,  which  by  now  had  at  least

a  100  passengers  on  it.  I  refused  and  asked  for  the  reason  behind  his  objection.

He  raised  his  voice,  something  that  my  parents  had  never  done  with  us  and  gave

me  his  definition  of  the  word  “family”,  which  according  to  his  diction  should

always  include  a  female  or  an  infant  child.  I  objected  again,  I  wasn’t  going  to

move   because  I  felt  he  was  abusing  his  power  and  I  was  quite  straight  forward

about  it.  The  guard  stopped  the  lines  from  proceeding. I  was  being  told  by  other

passengers  to  comply. They  said  I  was  creating  an  issue  on  an  international

terminal  and  that  such  act  was  bringing  shame  to  their  beloved  nation  of

Pakistan. I  was  suddenly  being  burdened  by  the  guilt  of  a  nation.  It  was  because

of  all these  people  that  I  gave  in  to  his  demand  and  moved  right  at  the  end  of

single  passengers  line.  I  was outraged.  I  was  literally  praying  that  terrorists

attacked  the  Jinnah  airport  after  our  flight  had  left  and  that  this particular  security

personnel  would  either  be  shot  a  hundred  times  or  blown  into thousand  pieces. I

 could   hardly   control  the  anger  from  showing. I  was  burring  from  within.

According  to  my   brother  I  had  turned  red  and  he  could  feel  my  rage  coming  out

as  flames. My  rite  of  passage  had  begun  and  I  was finally beginning to  realize it.



As  we  entered  the  Etihad  airline,   we  were  welcomed  by  two

 air hostess  who  were  formally  dressed  in  gray.  One of  them  directed  me  towards

the  middle   of  the  plane. I  was  nerves  and  confused  plus still frustrated  about  what

I  had  been  through.  The  fear  of  traveling  without  a  parent  was  haunting  me.  I

wasn’t  ready  for  this  journey.  I  felt  I  was  being  forced  to  grow  up  without  my

consent. As  we  were  walking  towards  our  seats, I  could  see the neatness  but  I

couldn’t  feel it. It   smelled  like  someone  had  vomited  their  stomach  out. Even

worse  my  brother  thought  it  smelled  like  dead  bodies.  We  sat  next  to  an  old

weird  looking  Zoroastrian  lady  who  starting  telling  me that  I  should  forgive  that

security  personal  even  before  I  sat  next  to  her. She went   on   say  that I  should

understand  how  people  react  to  things  because  you never  know   what  pain  they are

going  through.  She  helped  me  cool  off  my  temper,  and  challenged me to  think

otherwise. Something  that  would  stay  with  me  all  the  way  till  John  Fitzgerald

Kennedy  International Airport.



After  three  hours  of  flying,  the  plane  landed  in  Abu Dhabi International

Airport  the  capital  city  of  the  United  Arab  Emirates  which  looked  more  like  a

castle  made  out  of  mirrors. I  somehow  felt  I  was  inside  bees  nest  as  the  walls

appeared  to  be  made  out  of  gold. Everything  I saw  was  beautiful. The  marble  work

was  amazing. It  was  so  beautiful  that  I  wasn’t  believing  my  own

eyes, I  thought  I  was  hallucinating. After  some  site  seeing  we  ran  to  catch our

transfer plane  to  New York. As  we  were  running  towards  the  gates  to catch our

plane which  was  4 hours  behind  schedule,  two  guys  in  army  uniforms  stopped  us

and started   Interrogating  us. One  of  them  was  an  old  and  experienced, officer  the

other   was  maybe a  newbie.  The  old  officer  asked   us where we  were from.  I  told

him  that  we  were  traveling  from  Karachi   and   our  destination  was  New York. The

old  guy  told  his  colleague  that  in  a  situation  like  this,  when  a  person  is  traveling

from  South  Asia  as  we  were, they  should  always  ask  for  their  tickets  and  legal

documentation. As  he  was  explaining  these  complex  double  standard  systems of

the  security  department  of  all the  airports  around  the world  in  a  language  that  I

perfectly understood, I  took  out  our  immigration  papers  and  put them in  his  hands

without  him  actually asking  me  about them directly. Out  of  embarrassment  I  believe

he  let  us  proceed  without  any  further  questions.  



After  waiting  those  4  hours,  the  flight  finally  took  off  from  Abu Dhabi

towards  John  Fitzgerald Kennedy  International Airport in  New York. It  took  another

13  hours  for  it  to  reach  the  United  States  and  I  couldn’t wait   to  feel  some  land

underneath  my  feet. I  had  a  sense  of  relief  and  safety   coming down the  plane

which was soon  gone  after  we  stood  two-hours in the  lines  to  pass  the  emigration.

There  were like  a thousand  people  in  that  line. The terminal we were in was so ugly

that  I  had  a  feeling  that  we  had   mistakenly  taken   a  wrong  plane, and  that  we

had  somehow  entered  Bangladesh. I  felt  like  a  sixty  year  old  man because I was

very tired. The  first  thing  I did  after  clearing  our  first  hurdle  was  to  get  our

Luggage, which  was  be  a  stupid  mistake. I had no idea  that  we  had  to clear  a  last

immigration  procedure where  these custom officers  would  go through  our papers.

One  of  those officers would  give  me  a  lecture  that  I   would  never  forget.

He  kept  on telling  me  how  stupid  I was to  commit such  a stupid mistake  and  I kept

blaming  them  for not  having  signs to guide  people  like me  who had  been through  a

lot  to get here. He  was  very  stubborn  and  would  not  listen  to  me. He  told  me  that

we  would  be  the  last  people  to  leave  the airport,  and I  replied  saying  no problem.

As  soon  as  this  gentlemen  went  for his  break, his  colleague  called  me  up  and

cleared  us  to  leave  the  airport. He  also went  on   to  apologize  saying  they  were

having  a  bad  day. I  smiled  at  him  and  left.  I was  relieved. My  nightmare  was over.

     
            This  journey  had  taught  me  the  world. I had  learned  from  people

who  were  aliens  to  me.  As  much  as  I  was  regretting  this  experience, I was  aware

it  had  somewhere  within  me  created  a  new  me,  a  better  me.  Someone  who  was

more responsible  and  cautious  about  the practical  world. This journey  would  be  my

  “my  rite  of  Passage”, a  day  where  I  believe  I  grew  up.www.worst-day-of-my-life/xulfi-soomroblogspot.com