The Things I Carried

I was 15 years old. On the day I was waiting for the plane to America, I carried a silver hard plastic suitcase that my mom bought me. It was about 25 inches by 20 inches by 10 inches. It weighed about 45 pounds. Inside the suitcase, there was a dictionary, an umbrella, toothbrush, toothpaste, several pieces of clothing, and some gifts for teachers. The suitcase felt incredible heavy on that day, definitely more than 45 pounds. I carried the suitcase through the lobby. Thousands of people also carried suitcase similar to mine. They rushed from counter to security check without paying attention to each other and the world around them.

I carried my suitcase to the counter and managed to lift it onto the scale. I handed over my passport and received the boarding pass that my dad paid for. “￥6399,” I thought. Then I saw my suitcase move away by a belt with a mechanical sound. Somehow I was still feeling the weight of my suitcase. “They should know how to not lose my suitcase,” I told myself.

I carried my boarding pass in my pocket. The boarding pass is made of a piece of hard glossy paper with two perforations, one for boarding the plane one for myself. I put my hands in my pocket carefully so that I could make sure it did not fall out of my pocket or tore accidentally. This was my first time to travel alone. I walked on the long glass walkway leading me to the security check of the PEK airport. The steel beams that hold the futuristic glass ceiling was as tall as the sky. I felt extremely small walking alone. My heart was pounding heavily “will I get through the security? How about the customs?” I arrived at the security check before I even noticed.

I carried a black backpack, Inside there was my I-20 and a Dell XPS13 laptop that my mom gave me on my 14th birthday. I still remember every detail when I got that gift — my excitement, the smell of new electronics, and a receipt of ￥8999. I waited for the line in front of me to disappear so I could be checked. I had to take the laptop out and put it gently on a tray. Then I had to walk through a gate and my body was searched by hand. I did not like that. It was like being searched by police as a suspect of a crime. Before I left the security check, I re-packed my laptop and carried the backpack on my shoulder and I walked toward the gate.

A vending machine caught my attention. There were instant noodles. I used the ￥5 that I have left to get myself a last treat of close-to-authentic Chinese food before I left. I carried the bowl to the hot water station. The bowl got heavier and warmer. I found myself a seat far away from anyone else and 5 minutes later it was done; such a common junk food tasted so unique and special this time. Loads of cheap MSG never taste so delicious for me. The soggy noodles felt chewy and the spicy oil soup that I usually do not drink was not disgusting anymore. After finishing the noddles and soup for the first time in my life, I threw the paper bowl into a trashcan and resumed walking to the gate.

I boarded the plane uneasily. A smell of gas that is distinctive to the Airbus A330 airliner raised by the engines was carried by air into the cabin after the Captain’s PA about the flight. We waited on the taxiway. Adults were talking, children were crying, and I was looking out of the window. I was thinking about what I carried: some clothes, a laptop, I-20, passport, my dream, the future of my family.

We reached the runway. The big bird carried 234 people — each of us carried memories of their own home — lifted into the sky.