Telling the Whole Story: A Serendipitous Journey into Faith

by Rachael Falcetta (United States of America)

Making a local connection United Kingdom

“My best friend died in the rice fields. I had to keep going without him”. Faryad is in the narrow, fluorescently-lit kitchen cutting papaya. The broth he had cooked for lunch lingers on the stove; the mix of fruity and earthy aromas reminds me of the beach. Outside the western wall of windows, the Scottish sky bathes in the last glow of the May sun. I see another building similar to his settled in the distance and imagine the hundreds of windows witnessing the same glorious view. Some of the commercial boats gear up for the evening, while others dock. Gulls glide across the tangerine-colored sky. I remember I noticed his plants on the sill second. They were hard to miss, but the dim entranceway I oafishly squeezed myself through was more immediately perceptible. At first, I thought his house may be full of hand-me-downs from a grandma or auntie-- its traditional attire seemed more fitting for a gentle widow than the burly middle-eastern bachelor before me. “My family was killed for our religion”, he explains. I suspect this furniture was not inherited. The sky is dimming, but we have yet to turn the bulk of the interior lights on. The succulents and ferns adorning his window form sharp silhouettes, reminding me of my black binders holding travel itineraries at home. Stark, straight, and meticulously organized, they offer a view into the stifling obsession I have with controlling my fate. In a rebellious stint, I threw caution to the wind and found myself in Scotland, unplanned and under-prepared. “I was escaping persecution in Turkey, and it took years to get to Scotland” he explains. The United Nations condemned the Turkish government only three months ago, detailing systematic executions and torture that had taken place in Southeastern Turkey, or Northern Kurdistan, where Faryad was born. I feel foolish for my own predicament hearing his treacherous voyage. I am gallivanting across borders with whims as easy as the breeze that was coming now from the bay, while he feared for his life hiding on rail cars.I am lucky to be an unassuming white female American who was able to find refuge in Glasgow far more easily than Faryad had, I think. I look at his plants again, now with a fonder appreciation. A gentle man, he is able to provide love to his plants, which sit opposite his proudly hung Kurdish flag, despite his loveless journey. His plants and flag are the only items that seem to belong to him in his home. He brings the freshly cut papaya to the table, luring me back to the present. Recalling my failed attempts at cutting this fruit last night, leaving slimy wedges on the plate more reminiscent of chunks of flesh than a tantalizing meal, he laughs and smiles. He offers dates to pair with my dessert. We sit primarily in silence as I process his journey and my own to this table. Fear and discomfort seized me as I boarded the plane for Inverness, but the possibility I could find a life-altering trip if I let go of the control I had convinced myself I held over my travels was worth these insecurities. Yesterday I was sure I had ruined all chances of redeeming the trip after missing multiple buses and losing access to my money when an ATM devoured my debit card. However, as I sit across from Faryad, a stranger just days ago who let me into his home, I realize the hurdles are what had brought me to this irreplaceable event in time when our life paths are crossing. --------- A few days later and it is time to depart. It occurs to me that we both found my coming and going meaningful as Faryad cries goodbye, “I have never been able to tell my whole story, thank you”. There is a new plant on the sill which I found for him. As it reaches to the sun, it leads me out to find my own star to fuel my growth. I sigh as I feel anxiety rush out of me and vow to have faith in the unpredictable ways of the universe starting with my next step.