I’m still an outcast, still getting odd looks, still totally out of place. A Pakistani girl living in middle-of-nowhere, bumfuck, Middle of America, where, I swear, some people must not have seen a person of color in real life before.īut here, it’s a totally different feeling. You’d think I’d be used to this feeling, this out-of-place, stands-out, what’s up with that girl feeling. It’s an ugly picture, but I feel better for taking it. I snap a picture of the big warehouse-looking room of baggage claim. The world is much easier to cope with when you’re looking at it through a lens. I thought I was prepared for this trip to Haiti, but ten seconds here and I’m already feeling overwhelmed. It was only a two-hour flight from Florida, but I feel like we flew straight to Africa. Hungry eyes watch us as we pass through the crowd, looking for our massive bags. They dressed us in matching, hellishly bright T-shirts so we wouldn’t lose each other in the rush of a new country. Paired with stupid khaki pants, I’m a full-on frump-fest. Sweat drips down my forehead the second I take my first step out of the plane.
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