Arrival

by Ruby Spark (New Zealand)

A leap into the unknown Mexico

Stepping off the plane was a collision of familiarity and difference, excitement and terror. I think I will always chase that compilation of feelings, seek to collage all that I am afraid of until it resembles something strange and beautiful. An uber ride was my passage into this country, (what a world we live in!). I was in the car, on a highway scattered with the signs and billboards I had hoped to escape when I crossed over from America, to the wrong side of the border. I was with a man who’s eyes and flying hands tried to separate the distance between us, between the colour of our skin and words spilling off our tongues. A man who made me feel both safe and afraid and wonder if either of those feelings were even my own, or given to me, rolled up with the Kiwiana tea towels in my bag for safekeeping. I was aware of this moment, these few initial experiences. Like my mother’s straightening of my skirt, combing my hair, first impressions matter. I felt scared, by the vastness, the dryness, the evaporation of the picture in my head. We are a generation of imagined Instagram pictures, videos, stories to tell friends. This world that I was rushing into was far from the one I had seen online. (Funny that). A horse tan and tail flying, stood in a vale between concrete building block houses, children’s playsets left out in the sandpit. A white flag of surrender. I needed to give in, to these roads, the cars, the peoples stares. This was my home, for now, and that thought sat heavily on my chest, and the smog sat heavily on the building tops. I looked longingly at the mountains, my Nana was very adamant in the need for sea or height. Something to look towards, orientate yourself by. They stood tall around the city, green and brown and eaten into by greedy machines. I was left on the side of a street lined with colourful doors. My backpack on the unapologetically cracked pavement beside me. I rang the doorbell, (and in Mexico of all places!) was greeted by a man from New Zealand. The relief of familiarity was strong and cruel. The house was the best part of my arrival, maybe because it looked beautiful in photos and maybe because it fitted the picture in my mind. But also because it was my trophy, I had won! It represented my ability to get myself halfway around this world, to a country I had been told to dismiss, as too wild, too different and too dangerous be worthy of my time. It felt like the endpoint, arriving at that house, and I let it feel like the end. Let the success of the moment become everything because I was far too scared for this to only be the beginning.