Freedom

A vignette inspired by an interview with someone close, capturing the feeling of freedom in the air, so close when it seemed so far only yesterday.

One look outside the window and I’m blinded, my eyes squinting past the sudden brightness and instead to the view beyond. My throat catches, eyes widening. Hanging as if suspended just for us, the clouds paint the sky like white smudges of acrylic, blurring hues of pink and yellow, strikes of purple across a blue canvas. If only I could reach past the window, run my hand through the clouds and over the sharp wings made of metal and magic. I release a breath, one that might be as light as those clouds if not weighed down by the sudden nerves that attack my body, pounding at my heart and numbing my arms. Just hours ago we’d been boiling under the sun’s burning wrath, willing the trees to give us what little wind they’d kept within their branches. Now, a smile tugs at my lips as I realise what this means for us.

A shuffling sound breaks through my thoughts, snatching my attention from the window and instead to my brother. A flight attendant had given him a deck of cards, and he smiles cheekily over to me as he shuffles them in his hands. He’s clumsy, but I smile anyway, mirroring his happiness and letting it travel to my arms, prickling with a special kind of excitement.

Hours of waiting, nerves buzzing, murmured chatter… My eyes fall to the sea of people all around me, seats packed and an ease in the air, like the crashing waves I’d always snuck out to watch in the early morning. It was always so calming, especially after the nightmares, to watch the tide wash in and out, sparkling with a kind of magic I imagined it had only shared with me. Freedom, my mother had whispered to me once, face pressed into her welcoming arms and a kiss buried in my hair. When I couldn’t sleep she would tell me the wonders of Australia; Of safety, opportunity, freedom. Maybe that’s really what we’re going to have after all these years, when we get there. Butterflies find their way into my stomach, like a storm of something unknown.

The future, maybe?

My eyes search the crowd of people again, but this time they catch the gaze of a lady a few rows down. Her smile broadens when I meet her eyes, twinkling with such friendliness that I can’t help but smile back. She reaches for the fork on the stand in front of her, pausing before cutting into her cake. It’s over-exaggerated, animated, but when I understand I look back to my own uneaten food. Chopsticks are my specialty, not knives and forks. Hesitantly, I look back up at the woman. Her smile is as light as the clouds outside and yet holds encouragement like the wind of a storm. With clumsy fingers I copy her movements, my laugh coming out breathless when the fork cuts through the cheesecake with ease. My heart warms when she nods with a smile, comforting and kind. I’m filled with a lightness that I haven’t felt in a long time.

Is this what it’s like? 

Freedom?

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Writer's Note: I wrote this vignette as part of my English course a while back. The task was to interview someone about a moment that significantly changed their life. I chose to interview someone who had immigrated to Australia, and how they had felt in such a vulnerable and life-changing moment.