Every Journey Leads to a New Perspective

So concerned by the momentous occasion that the ferry crossing had in my own life, I was wholly unprepared to be overwhelmed by the path that was being taken by others.

I was fulfilling a bet, a lifetime ambition to reach Egypt from Australia, without a flight.
You were running for your lives from a war-torn country.

I had stamps from destinations, each one filled with timeless memories that I wanted to treasure.
You had stamps you wish you could forget. Ugly scars on a page reminding you of a lost life.

On the Turkish border I had paid for my visa thinking “please don’t ask for more money.”
You had paid for your visas thinking “please don’t take my sons.”

I was looking forward, heading for a destination.
You were always looking back, and would be, until you could return again.

Distracting me from this contemplation was a loud call for all passports, the first sign that we might soon depart. One by one we heaved ourselves from the hot tarmac and threw our documents into a large plastic bag. I watched mine fall, the British pages intertwining with the Syrian ones. Stripped of citizenship you would no longer tell the difference between the people that day, each of us glancing eagerly toward the horizon, waiting for a shadow, any sign that the wait would soon be over. Each of us towed everything we owned, perhaps a large bag that could be strapped to our back, or a suitcase, fit to burst, on rollers by our side. Comfortable clothes, neither torn nor dirty, showed that we had all anticipated a long journey. We were one and the same, travellers with a story to share and it didn’t take long for us to break the silence.

For 36 hours, through night and day, on an open deck, on a vessel with no rooms, we talked and shared. My friends, I will never forget that moment in my life. I was riddled with luck while you were riddled with pain but you embraced me and made me an equal. You shared portraits of your kitchen bruised by bullets before listening to my stories of tiresome buses and arrogant sailboat captains. Your laughter was loud enough to drown out the sound of the sea when I told you about tribes who breastfeed their piglets.

That night we simultaneously lugged our lives from Turkey to Egypt where the fresh breeze was tainted only by your cigarette smoke and your smiles were tainted only by a sadness in your eyes. You opened me up to the plight of others at a time when I was wholly focused upon myself and for that I became a better person.

Thank you.