Where art thou now Faith? - first posted August 22nd, 2005.
Hi team,
I wanted to let you know that I am safe and on track to return to theStates on time, after a minor/major scare which had me imagining nightmare situations, namely: being stranded in East Timor with not enough money to get back to Australia! It all revolves around a number. That number is 9, as in 9 o'clock this morning, when a small plane left Dili heading for Darwin, minus one passenger. The problem for me is its misinformed replacement: 12. I, and for the life of me I don't know where this came from, believedthat I was flying back at 12pm today. I was so convinced of this thatI didn't even take the thirty seconds it would have taken to check last night after returning to Dili to make sure of my flight time.
In fact, I only checked my itinerary at 9:20 this morning, just before I was about to leave my host family home behind for Nicholas Lobotau airport. It was only then that I read the small black digit on the print-out e-ticket itinerary my mother had so diligently preparedfor me:
9:00.
looked at my watch.
9:19.
I started to sweat. A lot. See, I sweat a lot in general - it's not something I take enormous pride in, but I blame it on Asian genes -but at that moment, I started to drip like a rat off a ship. I found myself repeating a new mantra: "Breathe," one which I attempted to fulfill as regularly as possible. I walked out into the kitchen and tried to explain my predicament to Amau and Jesuinhe, the two adults in the vicinity, with broken English and much self-chastisement. We raced to the airport, turning two lanes into three, me holding little Ronaldinho extra-tightly and planning for the worst.
It all came down to this: Can I transfer my ticket for this morning's flight to this afternoon, or will I have to buy a new ticket?
In addition: Do they have space on the afternoon flight?
The major caveat to this dilemma is this: I don't have enough money to buy a new ticket back to Australia. I...am...flat...broke. There's less than $100 in my major account, and my other two back accounts don't work.And with no flight back to Australia comes the consequence of missed flights to Sydney from Darwin (set to take place in about 14 hours) and from Sydney to Los Angeles (in about four days).
---You know how you see middle-aged Westerners wearing visors and fanny packs perform over-the-top freak-outs in public areas when they go on international vacations?---Yeah, that was me. Well, not that bad. When the lady at the counter said you're gonna have to buy a new ticket, then punched the number 513 (as in US $513) into her calculator, I've got to admit I shit a few bricks. I busted a nut or two. Literally, I put my head in my hands and said "Oh God."
Now thoughts started racing into my mind,thoughts we have when we're over-reacting in over-reactive situations. Like me working as a bus boy for foreigners in a Timorese restaurant trying to save enough quarters to buy a ticket home. Me sitting on the streets of Surik Mas with dust all over my face, coughing up yellow and bleeding black. Me dead, a washed up, no hope, boy without a home about as far away from home as he could really get, culturally and geographically (using Howard County, Maryland, USA as home).
But then a bright vision--akin to seeing a Virgin Mary statue weep--appeared before me. Her name was Mum. She has money. And she will be my ticket home. I mean, it's not the first time she's bailed me out. There was the time I left my Bank of America card in an ATM in Budapest. And then that time I left my passport in a safe at a hostel in Edinburgh while I was in Bournemouth, West England. She is well accustomed to saving her reckless and rather expensive son, and this time was no different.
One extremely serious -
"Hi Mark, how are you?"
"Ahh...not well. This is very important..." – sort of phone conversation and then one additional, highly relieved confirmation call has breathed relief through my hyperventilating soul.
I'm still coming home, baby. And I have somebody, or at the very least, something special to thank.
Hi team,
I wanted to let you know that I am safe and on track to return to theStates on time, after a minor/major scare which had me imagining nightmare situations, namely: being stranded in East Timor with not enough money to get back to Australia! It all revolves around a number. That number is 9, as in 9 o'clock this morning, when a small plane left Dili heading for Darwin, minus one passenger. The problem for me is its misinformed replacement: 12. I, and for the life of me I don't know where this came from, believedthat I was flying back at 12pm today. I was so convinced of this thatI didn't even take the thirty seconds it would have taken to check last night after returning to Dili to make sure of my flight time.
In fact, I only checked my itinerary at 9:20 this morning, just before I was about to leave my host family home behind for Nicholas Lobotau airport. It was only then that I read the small black digit on the print-out e-ticket itinerary my mother had so diligently preparedfor me:
9:00.
looked at my watch.
9:19.
I started to sweat. A lot. See, I sweat a lot in general - it's not something I take enormous pride in, but I blame it on Asian genes -but at that moment, I started to drip like a rat off a ship. I found myself repeating a new mantra: "Breathe," one which I attempted to fulfill as regularly as possible. I walked out into the kitchen and tried to explain my predicament to Amau and Jesuinhe, the two adults in the vicinity, with broken English and much self-chastisement. We raced to the airport, turning two lanes into three, me holding little Ronaldinho extra-tightly and planning for the worst.
It all came down to this: Can I transfer my ticket for this morning's flight to this afternoon, or will I have to buy a new ticket?
In addition: Do they have space on the afternoon flight?
The major caveat to this dilemma is this: I don't have enough money to buy a new ticket back to Australia. I...am...flat...broke. There's less than $100 in my major account, and my other two back accounts don't work.And with no flight back to Australia comes the consequence of missed flights to Sydney from Darwin (set to take place in about 14 hours) and from Sydney to Los Angeles (in about four days).
---You know how you see middle-aged Westerners wearing visors and fanny packs perform over-the-top freak-outs in public areas when they go on international vacations?---Yeah, that was me. Well, not that bad. When the lady at the counter said you're gonna have to buy a new ticket, then punched the number 513 (as in US $513) into her calculator, I've got to admit I shit a few bricks. I busted a nut or two. Literally, I put my head in my hands and said "Oh God."
Now thoughts started racing into my mind,thoughts we have when we're over-reacting in over-reactive situations. Like me working as a bus boy for foreigners in a Timorese restaurant trying to save enough quarters to buy a ticket home. Me sitting on the streets of Surik Mas with dust all over my face, coughing up yellow and bleeding black. Me dead, a washed up, no hope, boy without a home about as far away from home as he could really get, culturally and geographically (using Howard County, Maryland, USA as home).
But then a bright vision--akin to seeing a Virgin Mary statue weep--appeared before me. Her name was Mum. She has money. And she will be my ticket home. I mean, it's not the first time she's bailed me out. There was the time I left my Bank of America card in an ATM in Budapest. And then that time I left my passport in a safe at a hostel in Edinburgh while I was in Bournemouth, West England. She is well accustomed to saving her reckless and rather expensive son, and this time was no different.
One extremely serious -
"Hi Mark, how are you?"
"Ahh...not well. This is very important..." – sort of phone conversation and then one additional, highly relieved confirmation call has breathed relief through my hyperventilating soul.
I'm still coming home, baby. And I have somebody, or at the very least, something special to thank.
posted by Mark Hiew at
8:10 PM
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