I wanted everything to be perfect; I was anxious; I was excited. My body was jittery; I couldn’t wait for it to happen already. I’ve been helping my mom out for a few months now to get everything cleaned and fixed. It was a big deal for us. We were at the airport, waiting for the flight to land and the passengers to come out. It was July 25th, two days before my birthday, and the sun was going down, the air was feeling cooler. I was carrying two blood red rose bouquets and a small black camera. We got the roses on sale because the day was ending and the man selling the flowers wanted to get rid of them. I bet my dad was happy about that. I handed the camera to my brother, remembering that he once took a photography class what could go wrong?, “Okay, when they get here start the camera and make a video. Make sure to get everyone.” I said, instructing him. (Later on, I’d see photography class hasn’t really helped him.)

I looked around the airport and saw people holding balloons, waiting to give it to whoever they were waiting for. Ugh we should’ve gotten that too. It seemed like everyone was waiting for someone special.

It was pretty cold in the airport, they probably had the air conditioning on. I was wearing dark jeans, baby blue flip flops with sparkles on the straps, a royal blue t-shirt with an abstract design on the front, and a white cropped cardigan. I wanted to look nice for the occasion and leave a good first impression, if I didn’t my mom would’ve made me look my best, anyway.

It had been twenty minutes and no one came out of the “Arrivals” exit. I’ve never met my grandmother before, never met any of my grandparents actually. I’ve always wondered how she was like, my grandmother. I’ve spoken to her on the phone before, but not really, I never knew what to say, she didn’t know English and I didn’t speak Urdu. When I was younger, I would always get jealous seeing other people with their grandparents, they always seemed to be having more fun than I was. I felt like I was missing out on something. I figured, if my grandmother wanted to see me, she would’ve came to see me already. After a while, I tried to get over it, I had my mom’s aunt and she would visit us. She was the one I called grandma and she knew English, perfect. I knew if I thought about this more than I should, I’d be upset. I didn’t want that to happen to me. I tried to convince myself to not care. I stopped thinking about it, but now she was coming. I had to think about it, this was different.

The thoughts were coming to my head; I wanted her to like me. I wasn’t a little kid, if I were it would’ve been easier. If I were a little kid, my grandmother would obviously like me because everyone knows all grandmothers like cute little kids.


I saw someone come out of the arrival area. A girl was headed toward the family with the balloons. They seemed very happy and the girl was crying, she probably missed them a lot too and now they were reunited. I never realized how important the airport was. Everyday people leave and come, it can be a very sad, happy, anxious, all the emotions in the world, experience. It seems like a normal way of transportation but really it’s an experience, an adventure, a journey, or a story to tell one day, whatever it is, it’s yours.

After what seemed like forever, a man in a pilot's uniform was pushing an elderly lady in a wheel chair. I immediately knew it was her. I looked at my mom and dad, they were smiling “That’s her!” my dad shouted. My mom hasn’t seen her mom in the last 20 years; it was definitely a sight to see. Of course she would want everyone to look nice.

“Okay, she’s here. Start Recording!” I hiss at my brother. He started recording her coming our way, when my grandma was near us; she got up from the wheelchair (she doesn’t really need it, she’s just was an old lady who didn’t want to walk the long path) and walked toward us. She first hugged my parents, my mom was crying and so was my grandmother. If I hadn’t looked away, I’m pretty sure I would’ve started crying too but I do not like crying in public. My dad wasn’t crying because “he’s a man”, (his words not mine).

I stood there, just staring at everyone, not sure if I should interrupt and ruin the moment. I gave them a couple of minutes before going into the huddle they had made. I tapped her shoulder to hand her the roses, “Hey, these are for...,” She turned around before I could finish, completely ignored the roses, and pulled me in for a bear hug. She was crying. I am not a hugging type of person. I just let her hug me, my arms at my sides; I didn’t really have a choice, she was kind of crushing me. She may be old, but she is very big and strong and my cousin jokingly tells people she’s a wrestler! She let go, only to kiss me on the cheek. She asked my how I was, I understood what she, the problem was replying, “I’m good” I replied nodding, giving her a hint of what I’m saying. She nods too, pats my head and goes back to the huddle.

That’s when I knew my grandma liked me and that she wanted to see me, after all it was her choice to come. I felt loved, which always feels amazing. The whole thing probably took about thirty minutes but it seemed longer. It all happened at the airport, the place where things happen. One day maybe it will be me leaving or coming back to a whole bunch of people who love me.