Arrival in New York.

Certain things in life do not happen at random, they happen because they need to happen, and are meant to teach us a lesson or destroy or modify something that is not good for us. In moments of crisis, the desire to change flourishes and despite we are afraid of change the realization that we must continue to dream sits in our souls. Those who do not dream die little by little.

As I narrated in my previous writing «From Villa de Leyva to New York,» I chose to make a trip to renew my life because of a failed romance during the December holidays with a Colombian handsome womanizer who in the blink of an eye changed me for another woman. No surprise, I was one more on his list, the emergency dummy, the spare tire, with low potential to be his girlfriend and the fool who dared to play a game of chess that would be inexorably lost due to my shallowness and boredom. The result in this case was the migration to the United States with my friend Liliana. The unfortunate event turned into a blessing in disguise even though the trip was propelled by an existential frustration. In every cloud there is a silver lining.

It was six months of frenzy. We did the planning of the trip, renewed the visa at the American Embassy, a torture, contacted with friends in the United States, resigned from work and bought dollars. I leased my apartment and sold my new car to a great client, Liliana’s father, an international professional man with a lot of experience who fully understood the reason for our stormy journey and predicted the best in matters of love. We bought nonstop round-trip tickets, from Bogota to New York by Avianca and family and friends gave us a farewell party. We left El Dorado airport and when the plane took off, the excess of thought and a little bit of fear did so too.

Dinner was served and it was a pleasant pause to calm the nervousness produced by the unknown which manifests itself near the heart generating an anguish that accelerates breathing. When a trip is long going to the «scented» bathroom to stretch my legs is a must moment that I detest for the smell and lack of hygiene in the toilets and because I have always been afraid that I will catch a vacuum or a storm while I am in that tiny and uncomfortable restroom that can be torn from the fuselage of the plane in any second. Despite the tiredness I can never sleep in the airplanes and that day, while the gentleman sitting next to me did not stop snoring, I saw two movies while Liliana was reading a book about extraterrestrials.

Five hours passed and at six in the morning began the approach to John F. Kennedy International Airport. The stewardess made her usual announcement: fasten the seatbelts, straighten the back of the seats as well as life and turn off the lights and thoughts. The plane began to descend, and my peace did the same because despite having traveled so much I do not consider myself safe and sound until I get out of the plane. To make the landing on the Great Apple, one had to get down from the clouds of heaven and mind. The plane landed and some passengers clapped. People immediately stood up to get their bags from the overhead compartment while the flight attendants said on the loudspeaker: «For safety reasons, passengers must remain seated until the plane stops,» a reasonable recommendation that is never obeyed. Passengers like busy bumblebees rushed to take out the jammed briefcases. There was the usual old lady who cannot take out the heavy suitcase and the tall gentleman who always stands to help. We saw couples with children crying, honeymooners standing still looking at each other’s eyes, passengers with normal-sized hand baggage and others with giant sacs, who are always the first to stand up and obstruct traffic through the narrow corridors of the aircraft. The show on the planes of Avianca is a faithful caricature of the personality and the party attitude and disorganization of Colombians

Liliana and I stared at the mess and waited for the battle zone to clear. Finally, the narrow corridors were free. We inhaled a new air and went to the encounter of the airport immigration authorities and their decision. On the way out, they gave us the coffee and the “hot water” a typical Colombian alcoholic drink we brought as a gift. How much I would have given for a drink at that crucial moment! We said goodbye to the stewardesses and took the path to the future on a platform that trembled under our feet as our emotions vibrated nervously.

We wheeled the personal luggage through the endless corridors of the airport that looked like a honeycomb of bees with men and women coming in and out of the bathrooms, announcements on the loudspeakers, boards with departure and arrival itineraries showing the airlines of the universe in a dance of time and flight numbers. In the walk we perceive different languages, businesspeople, young people, couples, and families, some on vacation and others, simply traveling. Airports have an inexplicable spell, a specific light, and a smell of freedom where there is a captivating echo from the sound of so many hearts beating.

We walk into the immigration hallway. There were the longest lines for tourists and the shortest for diplomats, citizens, and residents. Thousands of people from all over the world were gathered in one big place with police and guards directing human traffic including frightened immigrants. At window number eight, a woman with a torpedo face was waiting for us, and as Liliana sensed something wrong because her intuition was at its best, she rapidly changed line. Without hesitation, I followed her to the line taking us to window four where an official with a serious angel face and lots of charm asked us the usual questions. The fear subsided, we smiled at him, and our true intentions could not be seen in the pupils, sweaty hands and nervousness sitting in the stomach. We had the sought-after visa and had come to the United States with the determination to stay for several months. Would it be possible? The blonde gringo looked at us sensing something but obeyed the connection between his youth and our dreams by stamping our passports with a black ink indicating an authorized stay of six months.

¡Hallelujah! We went to pick up our luggage wanting to dance. We handed the proper  forms to customs agents and our stress came to an end. We approached the exit, the automatic doors opened and with determination we stepped on the street going from the air conditioning of the inside to the outdoor morning without breeze, hot and with a humidity that stuck to the body. There was a row of tourist taxis and other yellow ones bringing passengers. The whistles of the traffic cops pierced our ears, and a rambunctious crowd ran around carrying suitcases, saying good-byes, or hugging people. We smiled and a sense of satisfaction filled our existence. Here we were. New York in summer.