Adventures of a Forced Migrant Contact Me
I was at an airport. I couldn’t find my ticket. I didn’t know my airline, let alone my confirmation code. I frantically looked at my clock but couldn’t make out the time. And I seemed to have misplaced my iPhone so I couldn’t look up any flight information.
The TSA officer shot me a puzzled look. “Where are you trying to go?”
“I don’t know.” I whispered. I had forgotten. I couldn’t remember how I got to the airport and where I was going. I just knew I had to be somewhere important and that I had to get there soon.
I picked up the scent of fresh linen. And then, it happened. I could hear her hushed, whispered tones in my ear telling me not to be late for our wedding.
“I’ve never missed a flight before. I’m not going to start now,” I replied.
Then, she asked me to travel safely. I had forgotten everything else.
“Wedding. I have to go to a wedding. My wedding.” I muttered, at no one in particular. And it was in a different country. I frowned. It made no sense for so many reasons.
I tried to recall how she looked. Maybe that would give me some clue as to where I needed to be. My mind drew a blank.
“You are getting married and you don’t know where it is?” His tone was incredulous.
Next, I found myself on a bed. In a sleepy haze, I only needed to ask myself one question. And it wasn’t the one asked by the TSA officer.
“You are still undocumented,” I said out loud to myself. That would mean I couldn’t fly out of the country. So there really wasn’t any wedding to attend.
I turned around and went back to sleep, satisfied and reassured. I didn’t need to be anywhere else but in my bed underneath the covers, sleeping soundly.