Strangers

I met someone today.
I don't know her name, but I know so much about her already.

I know she's a professor at a Lebanese university, where she teaches and researches in genetics and molecular biology.
She's 35 with 2 kids. The older one, a girl of 5 years, who, by the mother's own admission, is gorgeous. Even at so young, she speaks French fluently, and when she went for her new school's entrance exams, they were dying to have her.

The younger one is a boy, 1 year and 5 months old.

She's beautiful too, her skin easily puts mine to shame.
Her husband's a neurosurgeon and is attending an international  seminar in Dubai.
She's been to Dubai twice now, and she adores The Dubai Mall.
She was surprised I didn't know how to speak Arabic after 16 years in the country.
Apparently everyone in Lebanon speaks the language.

And no, I haven't been stalking poor doctor-ladies instead of shopping, so I'll thank you not to make such undeserved accusations.
I found out all this because there wasn't any space at Costa and I decided to share a table with a non-slasher-killer-seeming lady.
Because you know, being killed by someone you shared a table with would suck.

I've decided this is what I like best about going anywhere alone.
Meeting people.

That's the beauty of travelling, do you see it?

It doesn't lie in seeing as many ruins as possible, and taking as many Instagrammed pics as you can.

It lies in the people.
In mothers and sons, and uncles and grandmas.

I remember choosing a seat away from my friends on the flight back home from America. There was an old lady from Bangladesh sitting next to me.
Her Hindi was broken, but her granddaughter was beautiful. She was 2 years old, in a pretty white frock. Her son and daughter-in-law were aisle seats, but she told me her granddaughter's stories, about the peace in going back home.
I don't remember her face, but I remember she asked the flight attendant to get me my first Klondike bar.

The beauty of travelling also lies in little acts of kindness.
I will not forget her.

In all probability, I'll never again meet that Lebanese molecular biologist. I'll never meet anyone who berates Costa so sweetly for not providing balsamic vinegar salad dressing.

I'll never find that quiet easiness of sharing a few moments with a complete stranger who gets me ice cream.

But that's okay.

Tomorrow will come, and I'll explore somewhere new, write someone's story and discover another side to myself.

Tomorrow will come, and I will find the right words. And they will be simple.

But till then, I will carry on. For there are miles to go before I sleep. There are miles to go before I sleep...

Quoted: On the Road, Jack Kerouac; Stopping in the Woods..., Robert Frost