I ask the price for the chicken quesadilla but I know I’m going to buy it no matter how unreasonable the number is. In a way, I almost don’t mind. If I’m in an airport, I know that I’m going to overpay for mediocre food. Disappointment doesn’t bother me if I know to expect it.
I balance the cardboard container in my lap and spend a lot of time thinking about how much I paid for the food that’s currently burning my tongue. At least it’s hot. I consider that I prefer quesadillas from Taco Bell even though I never order them. I think they’re overpriced, especially when my usual is two items from the cravings menu. It’s not my usual because they’re on that menu, it’s just always been my favorite. But I’ll admit it excites me to spend so little on something I enjoy so much. Me and my dad used to marvel at the receipt, at how little it would add up to. We’d be outraged when they raised the price of something by twenty-five cents. Not because the twenty-five cents mattered, but because we went often enough to notice when there were changes. My mom used to tell me about a menu item that doesn’t exist anymore, how when they first opened, everything was impossibly cheap, even more than now. People talk about how Taco Bell is trashy, gives them a stomachache, but that’s the whole point. Everyone knows. From the start, the conversation has always been, “only that much?”
I’m in the airport for most of the day. It’s calming. I read, write, download pictures from my digital camera. I’m alone and the seats are a little dirty. Everything is exactly as it should be. The things that are out of place are meant to be. A knocked over yellow ‘floor’s wet’ sign, an ant crawled up the metal armrest. In the TSA line, someone behind me complains it’s going to take forever, tells their kid to be patient. It’s interesting because the kid seems more patient than the parent, looking around with interest while their parent taps their feet and checks their watch. The line didn’t seem that long to me. Maybe it would be if I was in rush, but I’m not. I have the whole day. The extra time makes me mindful. There’s no rush and my impatience won’t hurry up the line.
I realize that might not seem like a meaningful feeling. But I’ve always struggled with impatience. In this season of my life, it’s a major theme. Long-term goals take time to fall into place, everything is going slowly. I’m trying to set myself up for success without any guarantee it’ll actually work. Everyone’s telling me it’ll work out, I’m getting rejected from opportunities because a better one is just around the corner.
More tangibly, I was in the airport and the line was long. My turn was just around the corner but it wasn’t guaranteed because nothing is. Maybe I’d never make it to the end of the line; I’d make a home in the frustrated muttering around me. I’ve waited in these sorts of lines before and this time I know how patience will serve me, more than an empty lesson teachers and parents echoed. My senior year of high school was a lot of the same ‘you’ll end up where you’re meant to’ and anxiety about how things would turn out. Now I’m here. Writing about the same feeling. I’ve grown and I’m so scared, but I’m looking around with interest. Noticing and appreciating this season of uncertainty before it leaves me.
works i love
The End of the World at the Bottom of a Blush Pan, a poem on Grain of Salt Magazine by Evelyn Muggeridge
Object Permanence, a poem on poets.org by Hala Alyan
half daughter, half girl, all wrong, CNF on end of the world magazine by Maha Syeda
Traveling always makes me ruminate on recent themes, see the lessons in lines. Releasing a newsletter once a month is harder than I anticipated. Mostly because it’s hard to think of a new or unique topic so frequently as well as have it as polished as I want it to be. I appreciate having time to mull over ideas and consider what it is I want to say. In any case, I hope you enjoyed today’s bite-sized musings on traveling and Taco Bell! See you next month <3
-Nia Mahmud
Awww, I loved reading this🥺 I’m always so impressed when people are so good at writing about mundane things in their life, especially in prose, it’s crazy to me