Who's the foreigner here?

It’s very rare that I get out in the public where I’m stationed at. Basically, I just get shuttled from one camp to the next. I spend a fair amount of time traveling some of the roads, but the local connections I make are more along the lines of a window affair. I look at you, and you look at me. Sometimes there’s an exchange, a nod, a wave, but most times you could find more of a cultural merging hiding in an assortment of vegetables.

Anyway, today was a rare opportunity that I walked among the regulars, albeit briefly. I was at a Kuwaiti airport and I had to enter a building to pick something up. In order to get to where I needed to go, I had to walk through a large tunnel/lounge type of area.

I was by myself as I walked through this particular quarter and it took me all of three minutes from entry to exit. The setting is a waiting area, a place for casual lounging. There was a front desk with a gold lamp, rotating doors, and an abundance of couches, windows and TVs. The walls were full of Kuwaiti artifacts, pictures and other signified treasures. Also, there were rugs, plants and LOTS of people.

As I walked through, I noticed huddles of Japanese people, all standing in distorted circles. Apparently, they all packed under the same set of travel instructions, for everyone one of them seemed to be wielding similar items, namely pencils, eyeglasses, cameras and shoulder bags.

But there weren’t just parabolas of Japanese around me. There were significantly larger gatherings of Arab people, also arranged loosely in geometric patterns. Some were standing equilaterally in groups of three while others were forming more abstract patterns that didn’t strike me as graph-able.

All these people had been talking amongst themselves, concerned only with affable chit chat and perhaps travel plans, but regardless of interest or location, every single person automatically stopped talking and started looking as soon as I entered the area. Immediately, all eyes were mechanically fixed on me.

I came waltzing in wearing my desert camouflage and the look appropriate of a soldier. As I walked by, the sets of eyes fixated on me seemed to multiply indefinitely. The genial yet incomprehensible chit chat, faded into elastic banter. The lounge had become an idle party. I was the only American and military figure of any kind in the passing audience.

I had originally entered with a dry but sharp expression on my face, not deliberately, really by default, but in any case I couldn’t keep that posture for very long. There was simply way to many people staring at me and the lounging area was just too long.

I tried to maintain my discipline, my detachment from the environment, but I couldn’t take it any longer. The more eyes on me that I noticed, the more my disposition began to change. Half way through my unusual amble the expression on my face slowly began to change from a look of gravity to progressively fading into a smile, and shortly thereafter, it became all out laughter. I just couldn’t believe how many fucking people where staring at me as I walked by them. Their odd formations didn’t help matters any.

In addition to my solitary existence, my uniform, and my purpose for being there, the overall presence of my attendance was probably extra confusing to these people as I seemed to be laughing all by myself as I strutted on by. Foreigners.

~Rolligun