Lifting Anchor - A Tale of a Trip I Didn't Take

by Juliana Han (Brazil)

A leap into the unknown Canada

Fourteen years. We visited some of the most beautiful places in the world. More than 10 countries’ stamps on the passport. We saw unspeakable beauties and showed a little of our wonderful planet to our son. Now, his first solo trip... Well, he wouldn’t be exactly alone in an English summer camp; teachers and familiar acquaintances would be with him. But we wouldn’t be there. I wouldn’t be there. Not even a distant relative, an uncle, a cousin. Lonely, we think but dare not say out loud, like a castaway on an island. Worried parents, we imagined everything that could go wrong, tried to predict every glitch, gave him advice, double checked every detail. Departure day is upon us, and our castaway won’t even allow us to the airport to wave goodbye. He’d rather take the bus with his new travel buddies. We went through a lot before this day. We taught him all the abilities we could, so he would deal with anything and be independent. Simple stuff that, in a foreign country, are challenges even for grown-ups. Ordering food in a restaurant. Checking in at the airport. Going through passport control. We wanted to go to the airport but we didn’t, respecting his will. The next day, there he is, 8000 kilometers away. Every day we wake up and the first thing we check is his travel itinerary, a paper that now ‘lives’ on the coffee table. We ask ourselves, what is he up to today? We Google for pictures of the places he will visit, we travel by his side, although he never realized it. We discover, through his eyes, new places, cities, museums, foreign cultures, guessing his feelings right now, what things he is enjoying, what amazes him. He refused a cell phone. In silence, we regret having taught him not to buy things he doesn’t need. What teenager would refuse a cell phone? Well... ours. We download a messaging app on his tablet, which he got as a birthday gift from his cousins (thank goodness!). Every day, every hour, we peek at our own phones to see if he’s online. We depend on WiFi as if it were a plank of wood in the middle of the ocean. We hope that every hotel, restaurant and dorm has free WiFi... Once or twice a day we message him. Did you arrive well? Are you tired? Any trouble? Messages in bottles that we keep sending, hoping they will cross the oceans and 8000 kilometers that lie between us, and will reach their destination: his heart. Our castaway, to whom we teached a lot (but perhaps not enough), is there, on the other end. Some of our 'bottles' reach him. Suddenly, a ‘beep’ on the cell phone: an answer! Yes. It’s ok. It was good. Single words, short sentences, an urgent question. Signs that everything is fine and he’s still himself. After a few days, pictures from the teachers start to arrive. The whole group in a restaurant at lunch. Students gathered on the couch at the university campus. A photograph of everyone, together in front of an old cannon. Each picture, a wide grin, an interested look. Our son, who has always been so shy, with several boys and girls, smiling, being hugged, listening to a lecture, happy as ever. The e-mails his teacher sends tell a tale of a perfect trip. Everyone is united, enjoying freedom, taking responsibilities... It looks like our castaway isn’t lonely anymore. With him, travel buddies, perhaps friends, some of which he might keep for life, walking together, discovering things together. Then I realize: after this, our son won’t be a castaway. He’s there, far away, alone, but together with other boys and girls, each one lifting their own anchor. They will all be home by the end of the month, with that same smile from the photographs – but then they won’t be castaways anymore. They will come back, as quiet and independent as big ships, their chests filled like sails – proud of the things they have accomplished and the waters they have sailed – after having lifted that anchor that, for so long, had kept them tied to their mothers’ apron strings.