Getting Here and Now

After hours of sitting in a small cramped chair, listening to my iPod blaze away in my ears. To running around from airport to airport, forgetting that I was wearing a belt which sent off the metal detector,in which I was led to a cubicle to be scanned. I finally got off the tiny plane that landed in the small airport of Sarajevo. The other passengers and I were herded out of the airplane, everyone impatiently wanting to get out quicker then everyone else. Especially since we were 30minutes late. Before we boarded I was asked what time the plane was suppose to originally leave, and I told the man 14:25. In which he looked at the new time stating 14:45 which then turned into 15:15, the man was angry and frustrated and wanted to talk about his frustration. I did not however because I wanted to delay as much as possibly to not speak Bosnian, I ran to the bathroom. Though when we finally arrived to Sarajevo's International Airport we were met with only 3 airport staff members, whom were there to check our passports to see where the passengers were from and what was the purpose of our visit. I pulled out my blue United States Passport, while I snuck looks at the other passengers pulling out their own passports. I have this uncanny need to determine where other people are from. I passed the check and I was able to relish the fact that I wouldn't have to board another plane for another four weeks. For the first time, I felt as though I couldn't contain my happiness, which I had no idea was brewing, that I was going to see my grandmother, my uncle and one of my cousins. Then it happened, I saw them, they saw me, an automatic recognition in our eyes for one another and I was able to relax- to go with the flow and let them take care of me. My journey of being by myself across the world was done. I had survived.

And now I'm here nine days letter still sitting in my uncle and aunt's home in Tuzla. The first day I was left to venture by myself outside of the apartment. It was glorious and I felt as though I was small all over again, when my mother Ema gave me the trust to be able to walk to school by myself. Even though it was across the street, being small and crossing the street without my mom, was the first taste of freedom and independence I ever had. So ignoring the fact that my uncle was very fearful of me being by myself, and he even had to call me after 30minutes to check where I was (I was in a park across the street, because I choose to draw instead of venture into stores), it still didn't take away the awesomeness to be free once more. At least for 2hours.

After my 2hour spree of walking around, sitting, and attacking bugs that wanted to attach themselves to me. I slowly walked back to the apartment complex, after struggling to open the front door to the main building and was able to slip passed a woman leaving the building, I came back to my temporary home and was met with the smell of Bosnian Burgers. Yes, Bosnian Burgers. I really have never understood why American influence has become popular around the world but it is. I had pizza two days ago for breakfast, Bosnian Pizza. My cousins love it, and I love Bosnian food. And I bet your wondering if the Bosnian Burger was the best I ever had? As much as I'd like to believe that what my cousin Selma said is true, 'Bosnian Burgers are so much better then American' (To which she was referring to McDonalds, but who can call that a burger -Dino said Faruk's burger should be called McFaruk-), I will say that In N Out and Duke's has won my heart in being still my number ones.

Lesson Learned this time? Bosnian wasps are ridiculously frightening. Especially after it comes back after trying to fan it away with a book.