“Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light.” Helen Keller

 

My Chinese-Canadian Girl Visiting Her Birthplace

 

I press the snooze button. 4:40am. My bed feels cozy, blanket soft. I groan. Who gets up at this hour? I let sleep pull me away.

“You better wake up.” My husband interrupts my rest.

“I will.” Forcing myself awake I hear my boys’ voices. I can’t believe they are up. In days past we carried them directly from their beds to the van for early flights.

I dress and brush my teeth.

“Was this a good idea?” I say to Brian as I zip our toothbrushes inside of my carry-on.

“We didn’t have a lot of options.” He is right. But the timing is all wrong. After travelling for the spring and summer, I am ready to settle. I know my kids are too. But we need to leave the country. We are on tourist visas and can only stay for sixty days at a time.

I cringe as Brian locks the door. I want to re-connect with friends. I want to make a comfortable nest for my family. I want the security of home.

I love travelling but not today.

*

Our flight goes smoothly and we are soon at customs in Hong Kong. The row of immigration officers, the maze of aisles that separate us from them, the middle-aged women in uniform – stouter than those in the mainland – directing people, switching between Cantonese, Mandarin and English, creating order from chaos; it all brought back a flood of memories from the days when we carried our sleeping boys off the plane.

We travelled to Hong Kong often when they were young and spent two months here for my daughter, Blossom’s birth. I remember approaching this same line pushing a stroller, pulling a pre-schooler and being ushered past the crowds right to the front. After expecting we’d be waiting for an hour with two little ones the woman that opened the blocked off lane for us struck me as angelic.

It could have been the same woman that now directs us to the back of the line.

Several flights must have just arrived because there are hundreds of travellers. Many look bewildered, likely after being lulled into a daze on their long flight then stepping off into a hub of activity. Others, like us, are zigzagging through the aisles to secure their place.

“Hurry,” I say to Blossom. People are pushing in front of us, separating our family.

“Ok mom.” She pulls her suitcase fast, catching it on each pole that marks the switchback turns as we round them.

I juggle my carry-on, a purse, and Blossom’s second bag while trying to keep the poles upright and not let anyone else pass. Once we get to the last long straight, we push past people all the way to the finish line in a fashion truly unCanadian.

All five of us approach the immigration officer, together.

*

Our last experience with immigration, on our recent return to China, was standing in line for two hours in the middle of the night, after a twelve hour flight. The agony is still fresh but it will eventually join the knot of memories. I’ve lost track of the number of times we’ve filed through these lines. Travel is a part of our lives.

It has meant exciting adventures, but it has also meant instability. And that gets hard. It’s hard for me, but it’s even harder to watch my kids experience it. I crave security, for myself, and for them.

“Mom, we’re used to this,” Bamboo said, his voice matter-of-fact, when their last round of friends moved back to their home countries and the group that remained grew sparse.

The positive side is that when we meet people, we get close fast. Our friends become the family we have left behind. In China I have experienced a new depth of fulfillment through friendship.

Being in Hong Kong reminds me of the wave of friends (our pseudo-family) who rejoiced with us when Bamboo took his first step here, on his first birthday. And another wave of friends who, after Blossom’s birth, brought new meaning to the term baby shower, giving me six or seven outfits each as I held my new bundle of pride in my arms.

Nostalgia fills me.

I wish I could visit them again, that we could reminisce over old memories. They have all left. And with home far, and airline tickets expensive, good-byes bear the weight of finality.

But today I will be saying hello to a friend, not good-bye. My goal is to get back to that same hospital where Blossom was born. But first we need some food. The budget airline didn’t even provide a complimentary pack of peanuts. We are through immigration and while my growing kids are always famished, now I am too.

*

Read Part 2 at: Travelling With A Friend – Part 2

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