Through the course of my adventures, I've been fortunate enough to meet a number of exceptional human beings. World class, even. From work colleagues, to travel companions, to fellow passengers on the bus during my time at university, I've managed to befriend people in all sorts of places. Some of these meetings have been more unlikely than others, while some have been perfectly ordinary. Either way, we've all got stories about how the people who were once strangers became our dearest friends.
On the other hand, we've also all met individuals who, for whatever reason, don't become a permanent part of our lives. They might be around for some years or perhaps just a fleeting moment. Regardless of the amount of time that they are present, our interactions with them are all but forgettable. I have memorable moments about a lot of these people, but there is one story in particular that comes to mind more often than most. Ron was an 80-year-old Wellingtonian I met at LAX on my way home from Central America. He was behind me in the queue at customs wearing a well-worn, patch-covered leather jacket, with a khaki-coloured rucksack slung over his shoulder. I had recognised him from earlier in the day as I had also seen him wandering around Mexico City airport. My friend Tom who was with me at the time had spotted him initially, saying something along the lines of "check out this guy." He had a point; it's not everyday you see some leather-clad old-timer strutting around an airport on his own. The elderly man was carrying a New Zealand passport in his hands: another kiwi amongst this sea of people. In some respects, his presence made me feel a little closer to home, which was especially comforting for a weary traveller who just wanted a hot shower and to be tucked up in her own bed. As the line shuffled forward, a faint voice spoke up: "So, you're from New Zealand as well, are you?" He must've noticed my passport too. "Yes, I'm from Auckland" I said, with a half-smile, wondering whether or not revealing my identity as a JAFA would cost me an airport companion. He acknowledged my response with a single word that also answered my yet unasked question: "Wellington." As we passed through customs, I asked Ron where he was returning from. He told me that he had just spent the last six weeks travelling around Mexico, Guatemala and Belize by himself. My eyes widened in both surprise and awe; it seemed like a rather impressive feat for someone his age. I told him that I had just been there myself and we began swapping stories about our experiences. He explained that his holiday had been cut short due to an injury he had sustained falling down some stairs in Guatemala. The poor bloke ended up in hospital for a week without any of his travel documentation on him. "The whole thing was a circus," he chuckled, "the doctors and nurses couldn't comprehend a bloody word I was saying!" Fortunately, Ron managed to navigate the language-barrier by communicating through the use of hand gestures and facial expressions until he was discharged. It's remarkable how you can reach a mutual understanding with someone through something as simple as eye contact, isn't it? "So, what's your story, Ron?" I asked as we sat down for a pre-flight snack. He had bought himself a banana and a chicken sandwich, which he carefully unravelled from the cling film that it was wrapped in. Ron began by telling me that he had worked as a carpenter since he was a teenager and that he eventually opened and ran his own business. It was successful enough that he was able to retire at fifty, and that every year since, he had managed to travel away somewhere. Unfortunately, Ron's life wasn't quite the fairytale that I had imagined, despite his extensive travels. His wife passed away when she was forty, leaving him to raise their two children single-handedly. He had become estranged from his son over the years, but was close to his daughter, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. His face lit up when he spoke about them and he said he was looking forward to catching up with them when he returned to home. Ron coolly mentioned that he had a lady-friend (sly dog) who no doubt was anxious to see him. He hadn't managed to figure out how to get his Nokia flip-phone to work, and so, he hadn't been able to contact her once during his travels. I took one look at the ancient relic he presented to me and assumed that either the battery was buggered or that the cellphone was simply too outdated to function successfully in this decade. Despite this, Ron had done extremely well without any communication to or from home. To be quite honest, he probably got a lot more out his experience than someone who would've been glued to their iPhone, discovering their newfound world through a tiny screen, rather than with their own eyes. Soon enough, it was time for Ron and I to go our separate ways. I was bound for Brisbane while his stopover was in Sydney. As we reached my gate, he offered a firm handshake, thanked me for my company and wished me all the best. "You've got your lid screwed on straight, you'll be all right" he chimed. In an instant, he eradicated any self-conscious thoughts I may have had about my head being lopsided. But in all seriousness, it was somewhat reassuring for a 22-year-old (who despite trying to "find herself" in Mexico was still unsure what life would bring) to hear those words from a stranger who had experienced it all before her. Although our meeting was brief, I still took something valuable away from my conversations with Ron. In spite of all the curveballs that had been thrown his way, his outlook of life was impeccably bright. If I am lucky enough to live a life as long and fulfilling as his has so far been, I hope that I too will be able look back on all my past experiences and appreciate them for what they're worth. No matter what bullshit you have to endure, it is essential to find that silver-lining, and try (however difficult it may be) to look at the bigger picture that is being painted before you. I don't know if I believe in fate, but I like to think that people come in and out of our lives for a reason. The scale and impact of their influence on us may vary, but no doubt, these interactions, however minor they might be, seem to count for something. The importance of these encounters may be realised in an instant or perhaps days, months, even years later, when we find ourselves reflecting on them. Sometimes they reveal general truths about life, while other times, they allow us to learn something new about ourselves, alter our perspectives, and ultimately, play their part in shaping the people who we become. As for Ron himself? Well, I need only two words to sum him up: bloody legend.
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B is:A 26-year-old tea drinking writer of words trying to find her place in the world.
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