Writing the Self 3: “Bless your Soul”

People crowded the lobby with exhausted expressions; patiently waiting for their luggage to arrive. The hours of flying and jet leg was beginning to take a toll on the adventurous passengers, but I wasn’t fazed. A smile stretched across my face from ear to ear, eagerly waiting to arrive at our next destination. Finally, our luggage drifted slowly along the trolley where once close enough, I was able to heave the heavy bag over the ledge. After travelling to a tropical destination every year, you’d think I’d learn how to pack less by now; that was not the case. 

            Side by side, we drug our suitcases trying to maneuver our way around the large airport, being cautious not to run into any other tourists. Exit E, how could it be so difficult to find? “There”, pointed my older brother, Cody, with relief. We raced towards the exit, ignoring the fact our bags were like carrying a load of bricks. Opening the glass door and exiting the cool air-conditioned airport, I was struck in the face with a waft of Mexican air. Relief, excitement, joy, every possible happy thought you could think of was running through my mind and nothing was going to rob that feeling from me. 

            One by one we climbed into the 12-passenger van where we were greeted by a friendly local. He reminded us to strap on our seatbelts and enjoy the ride. My patience was slowly drifting away because the 30-minute ride felt more like 30 hours, and we hadn’t even exited the airport parking lot yet. “Young lady,” voiced the driver with his very distinct accent, “have you ever travelled to my home country before?” I shook my head. “Well, are you ever in for a treat. We have a short drive, but take in the incredible views,” he smiled at me and turned up the radio, blasting a Spanish song. Gazing out the window, palm trees lined the meridian and every shade of green was illustrated far in the distance. As we traveled further into the city, the bright colours continued to amaze me. The drivers signal light flicked on as we turned into our resort. The 30 minutes was over, and I could hear the ocean calling my name. 

“Thank you for the ride,” says my dad as he hands the driver his cab fee along with a $15 tip. Tears filled the man’s eyes as he handed the tip back, refusing to take it. My dad insisted and the local began saying “bless your soul” repeatedly, continuing to shed tears down his tanned cheeks. I was confused by their interaction; it was only $15. However, the luggage man distracted me from the tearful driver while he asked if he could help me with my bags. I nodded and thanked the young bellhop. Again, my dad tipped the gentlemen where a similar situation occurred. This time, the $10 bill was given back to my dad, insisting it was too much. Instead of confusion entering my mind, I was struck with guilt. I walked up to the bellhop, handing him $10 of my own money that I’ve been saving and walked away. My mom and dad shared a smile with one another and gave me a hug, almost squishing my elementary sized body. I looked up, “he needs it more than I do”.