KATELYN HAWTHORNE/The Miami Student
It was a Saturday just like any other Saturday-my mother was frantically fastening the straps of her white dress, grandma was undoubtedly showering mom with stress, and I sat on the beach, waiting for my mother to walk down the aisle.
OK-so maybe it wasn't your normal Saturday. The truth is, it was probably a Saturday unlike any other. Most Saturdays aren't filled with a wedding in paradise. Other Saturdays may not be host to a family walk down the beach, sand filtering through your toes and waves crashing over the sand. And even better still (or maybe worse), a normal Saturday may not hold an unwanted surprise, waiting for you at the end of the line.
It was a beautiful St. Lucian wedding. And oddly enough, I had to leave my new parents immediately following the ceremony. That May 19, another country was calling my name. This summer, I would be in England, interning in the nation's capital, immersing myself in British culture and paving the way for a career in international journalism. So after a bittersweet goodbye to my family, I gathered my belongings to journey back to the hotel and make my way to the airport.
Mom waved goodbye as I walked away with sand-filled shoes, her dress shimmering in the Caribbean wind.
In all honestly, it was an odd feeling knowing I wouldn't see any of my family for three months. It was different than my parents dropping me off at school for the semester with the assumption I wouldn't see them again until Thanksgiving. This was more than that. This was the understanding that I would be alone in another country, half way around the world, without the option of seeing my parents whether I wanted to or not. And as excited for London as I was, there was a sense of nostalgia present in the taxi as we drove over the winding roads that curved around the island and to the airport ahead.
I arrived at the airport, aware that I had hours of travel time ahead of me-four hours back home to the United States and then eight hours more Sunday morning from Dayton to London. But had I known what lay ahead of me at the end of the seemingly endless line to the check-in counter, I may have been weary to start feeling excited.
The hour-long line to the check-in counter was host to a number of thoughts-worry that I would have a difficult time adjusting, especially since I was joining the rest of the group late due to my mother's wedding; enthusiasm about my stellar internship in London, fear about my first professional interview and then total and complete disappointment, anger and discouragement when I reached the end of the check-in line to find out I wouldn't be arriving in London Sunday evening.
Delta Airlines had overbooked and I was being kicked off the flight.
I was flooded with a slew of emotions, my immediate concern being whether I would still be able to go to London. To my understanding, the London program needed me on the Richmond campus no later than May 20. Because the next flight back to the United States wasn't until Sunday afternoon, I would have missed my scheduled American Airlines flight to London Sunday morning. For hours, I sat with the Delta representative, trying to sort something out. The representative even tried to book another flight directly from St. Lucia to London on another airline, however, that flight was full.
I was placed in a hotel that evening, alone and without a Saturday return ticket home. The hotel was actually quite nice. It offered a free dinner, free access to the beach and a variety of other services all at my disposal. But I didn't want to see anyone or eat anything. I didn't want to be bothered with the enjoyment others were having. I simply wanted to lie in my bed and talk with my mother on the other side of the island.
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Downtrodden with nothing to smile about, I arrived at the airport the next morning and began another attempt to get home. Finally, with a guaranteed ticket in my hands, I went through the painful procedures of security, then customs and finally the walk to board the plane. The entire flight home, I couldn't help but think, "I should be over the Atlantic right now."
Four hours later, I arrived home back in Dayton that Sunday evening. And five hours away, American Airlines Flight 99 began its decent into the brisk London night.
Monday morning was as chaotic as ever. After a quick phone call with the London program and a flight switch with American Airlines, the journey to London officially began. I was hesitant to express excitement, as I already knew what extreme disappointment felt like. Yet, the flight to London was relatively smooth. After arrival, the long lines through customs were no surprise when I exited the gate, however, the less than pleasant immigration officer was a bit of a surprise. Regardless, because I was arriving late, I was responsible for getting to the Richmond campus alone. With rather vague directions in my hand, I caught the tube and began the adventure toward the heart of London.
Standing in the tightly packed train rendered many different thoughts. After thinking about it, I wasn't just standing on any train, but I was standing on an overcrowded train-in London. When I arrived at my tube station unsure of where to go next, I wasn't just lost, but I was lost-in London. And when I finally arrived at my dorm and was told I had to meet with my internship adviser in 20 minutes, I frantically went upstairs with my luggage and then rushed to the internship office-in London.
The internship office appeared as this old English building, draped with vines and a rustic English look to touch. I met with Francesca and Elizabeth, my internship advisers, to discuss the internship that would start three weeks later after the interview process. After asking if I was still interesting in interning with the Foreign Press Association, I responded with an enthusiastic "yes," explaining it would be a great opportunity and would provide wonderful exposure to British journalism.
"Good, because your interview is tomorrow at 10 a.m.," Francesca said.
The London madness had begun.
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