It is around 3:30 AM when we leave the house and drive to the airport, it isn't that far from our home so we don't need to drive long, which makes it all the more nerve-wracking. Andrea left two weeks ago to Cambridge, dad's home city where she's currently studying medicine, so in the car, it's only me and Jordana in the back, mom as calm and collected as always, in the front with our dad who is driving. For some reason, I thought Mom would be different today, that maybe she would smile genuinely and like a mom, not deceivingly like her well-prepped, usual self. But no, not a twitch in her oval sapphire eyes, not a bite in her thin glossy lips, or fiddle with her blood-colored cat nails, nothing. She was perfect like every morning. I used to wish to find my mom in the kitchen making us breakfast, not behind the screen on TV plastering a smile for strangers instead of us.
Dad, however, isn't perfect. His hands would tighten and loosen on the steering wheel and I'd catch him looking up at me through the mirror. I look like him. He has a diamond-shaped face with a strong hairline. Our eyebrows and eyes match too, thick and wild and almost as dark as our hair. His lips are plumper while mine is awkward. The top lip is larger than the lower and I'd often think that I look like a penguin or some form of a bird. Quack. No one likes a duck when they can have a swan.
We make it to the airport. I have about two and a half hours, but my paranoia has started to crawl up my chest. My entire body seems drained of blood, Jordana notices and jokingly pinches my cheeks but I, annoyed, swat her hand away. Her other hand is holding mine. Many people don't have the greatest relationship with their siblings but I am fortunate enough to have my sister as my best friend. In school, I didn't have that many real friends and hung out only with my sister, so it felt like all I was losing was my sister. My mom was never there and my dad will see me a couple of times in Kyiv since he has business partners there, so the hardest part is letting go of Jordana's tan hand that looks even tanner next to my snowy hand. We won't see each other until Easter, that's almost a decade away!
Dad hands back my khaki backpack that was covered with film-related badges as well as my suitcase and straightens up, trying to look taller than he already is, sucking in an unsteady breath. If there's anything I didn't get from my parents, it's their height, the three of them tower over me while I stand in my humble height of 1 meter and 55 centimeters.
I throw the backpack over my Hawaiian shirt. I could hear mum cringe in her mind and remind me that I look like a clown and that I should've done something with my hair or face to look half decent for my new family. Although, as strange as it was, she didn't say anything and her eyes didn't squint from disgust. Mother, you manage to surprise me.
Jordana is the first to say goodbye. Her face crumples and little streams come pouring out of eyes that resemble too much like my mother's. She locks her arms over my neck and my head falls on her curly blonde hair that smells like my shampoo that she stole because there is not one thing that I possess that she hasn't stolen. She lets go just as fast as she embraced me. Jordana jumps on her toes a couple of times before running away to the car. Mother's forehead raises slightly raising her eyebrow and then falls into the same position as it once was. Dad hugs me and whispers in English, "do me proud, kiddo," whatever that means. I'm still shivering when he walks away, actually walks away, leaving The Wicked Witch Of The West alone with me. Our heads turn from the direction of our dad at the same time it's almost eerie. She takes in a long deep breath before saying,
"Are you excited?" Jeez, mom, I won't see you for more than half a year and this is all you have to say?
"Mostly nervous that they won't let me through," I force a laugh that's mostly air and a confused smile. She almost smiles. "But yeah, I'm excited," at this point I don't know who I'm trying to fool more, me or her.
Her long nose looks straight onward while her eyes look down in my direction when she says, "good...And... I wish you the best of luck, call us when you'll get there," I nod back to her.
And then my mother does something strange that's almost foreign to me. She raises her arms out as though a big box was between them, and awkwardly, in an alien manner, hugs me. It's distant and more strange than cold, but it's still her hug. I let go, and they leave me first before I can leave them.
I become a ball of hysteria, I've heard of panic attacks but I didn't understand what they were until now. It's like all the blood that once was lost, was now rushing into my brain at lightning speed. All sense of orientation seems to have disappeared and all I want to do, is scream but there's no air, no voice, it's like it got clogged in my throat with that horrible pain in my chest building its way in every direction. And oh god, why am I missing them so much if I'm still on Lithuanian land? How to breathe? How to talk? Where do I go? What do I do?
I notice some concerning looks from strangers, even a guard. Oh no, I'm drawing attention to myself. What if he thinks I'm a terrorist or someone with a fake identity....or...or... or a contrabandist?! Oh no, that guard will call the main security and let them know I'm exhibiting suspicious behavior! I inhale and exhale and inhale and do this a few more times before my tears start to dry out. I imagine my face must look red and bloated like some deformed cherry. I am a wimp. Most teenagers would be ecstatic to move abroad for a year and then there's me running around the airport like some headless chicken.
"Get a grip," I mutter to myself before trying to where to go further.
I get through security with a few strange glances from people who notice a strange girl smiling to her ears while tears stream endlessly. Yes, sir, I know I look like I just escaped the looney house, please don't rub it in my face, please, my mother is enough.
I sit in the waiting area, with untied shoelaces and my eyes closed while listening to an audiobook about natural selection when I hear my phone ping. It's a text from my new mom, saying they can't wait to see me. Super. I sigh even more heavily and almost instantly my feet aren't touching the earth. They rested in a space that was almost too tight for my chunky legs that felt even more tired, not from the walking but from the annoying boy that would "accidentally" kick my chair. Each time he did, I'd turn around and give him a murderous glare, and actually consider opening the doors and throwing him out. Kick. Kick. Kick. Kick. Alright, kid, that's enough, "excuse me, ma'am your piece of shit of a child is kicking my chair and I can't sleep because of him. Unless you want me to call social services and report you for neglect, I highly advise you to tape his legs and control him," a Mr. Burns wicked smile emerged on my face at the thought of that, but instead, in Lithuanian, I'm nice and polite and ask her to manage him. To which I'm surprised when she shouts back in Ukrainian, "What's wrong with you? Jibber jabber jibber," my eyes blink and my brain is completely confused at this point. I smile but in my mind the word "Error" flashes. After a moment of smiling back, dazed, I manage to turn back into my seat. This is going to be a long flight...
It's a damp day in Kyiv. The sun's beams spread across my face and wake me up around 10 minutes before our expected landing. I take a picture of the marshmallow-colored sky that looks like it has been painted with fine brush strokes. One of the things I love about being mixed is that I have an English name. I think English names are one of the most universal names, whereas if I tried to announce myself with a Lithuanian last name in the UK, it would be acknowledged with blinking eyes and mouths pouted in the shape of an O. In school it wasn't too bad having a foreign name, but I could only imagine what it felt for someone with a tough Lithuanian last name going to school abroad.
As I get up from my seat, I'm almost thrown out of the plane by the hastiness of the other passengers. Mini Jackie Chan and his Godzilla mother start shouting at me in Ukrainian to hurry up, I seriously consider grabbing her by her chin hairs and ripping them out, but I surprisingly managed to maintain myself. I hurriedly escape the plane and pull myself to the side of the pavement, letting other passengers rush off into the airport. All of a sudden this little ball starts knitting itself back up into my throat. Tears start to burn in my eyes but I just tighten the grasp on my backpack and head towards the airport.
I look around and then look back down to the picture of the people I'm supposed to meet: Mariyan, Lev, and Marina Novak.
"Well, where are you?" I think to myself. With the Novaks in no sight, the worry begins to build up in my chest. I try to connect to the airport wifi when I hear a loud and raspy voice call my name.
"Ilona! Ilona, it's us!" I raise my head up to find a plump woman and two men behind her, running in my direction with strong arms in front of her. I don't know if she wants to hug me or kill me. It's Marina, she's the kind of image if someone said "soviet woman". She's average height with average brown hair, but a muscular and thick build. Her hair is probably short, hidden behind her red headscarf. She is wearing a scarlet polka dot dress that is unflattering but at the same time, looks like it was made for her. Her clumpy shoes clank towards me and I see her face more clearly. She has purple eyeshadow and bright pink lips painted the color of a sprinkled pink donut. Before I know it, I'm in her grasp. Man, this lady has power. She smells like home-cooked meals, something spikes familiarity in my brain. Marina lets me go, both arms holding my shoulders tight...almost too tight. Her face is bright like a sunflower with the biggest smile you could ever see, her hazel eyes all wrinkly from always smiling probably. But she seems kind, loving, and almost saintly.
"We're so happy to have you, Ilona, you can speak Russian, yes? Ukrainian?" she asks in Russian, I nervously tell her I'm better at Russian, barely managing to keep eye contact but smiling a tight smile. Marina, without asking, takes my suitcase and dives into a story of their trip to the airport while pulling the suitcase behind her and loops her other arm through mine while dragging me to meet the rest of the family. Before me, stands Lev, a head taller than Marina, wearing long milky socks in brown sandals, shorts, and a white and blue stripy shirt that doesn't compliment his belly. It's not big, but very bloated. He has a very unserious and almost immature face, with a wrinkly forehead and an eagle-shaped nose. His triangular eyebrows blend into the color of his skin but his head hair seems thick except the back, which has a monk bald spot. You know, when monks had bald spots at the back of their heads as though they had a bowl placed and their hair instantly vanished. Well, he has one of those but also has that Dracula M forehead line. Lev sticks out his skinny and hairy arm and I slowly and hesitantly take it. Although, he grabs it before I could even take his hand, and he rapidly begins to shake it, (OW!) and brought me into a tight hug. He lets go with an ear-to-ear grin and introduces himself as Novak Lev Ivanovich. Lev has yellow Dracula teeth to match his hair but there's nothing scary about his nature. Beside him stands their son Mariyan. Lev gives a striking smack on Mariyan's back, not aggressively but still shockingly, throwing him forward, closer to me.
"What's wrong with you! Go! Introduce yourself to your new sister, we have a new edition to the Novak family!" He laughs this loud bellow sound you'd hear from drunk men in a bar, but it's not overdone, it's just his laugh, I smile, there's something genuine about all of them.
"Why are you so pushy! He's so shy to be in front of such a pretty girl," she goes from a killer look to Lev, to a wide and soft smile towards me. Mariyan looks from them to me, shaking his head in annoyance but smiles, this must just be them. Mariyan is long like his father, also a skinny build, same straight, caramel-popcorn-color hair but with his mother's hazel eyes, hidden by thick-framed glasses. His skin is surprisingly pale in comparison to his parent's red tanned skin, although his cheeks have some redness from acne. He's wearing dark jeans from the early 2000s that are too long and too thick for his legs and a gray shirt with some Ukrainian band I've never heard of, there's something in this family and unflattering clothes. Mariyan shakes my head with a friendly smile and nods his head towards his family and mutters, "hello, I'm Mariyan and this is my insane family, welcome to Ukraine."
Today, I became Ilona Harrison Novak.