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I stared out the window of the small airplane from my aisle seat. At this point, I had crossed the invisible boundary that consciously separates the aisle seat passenger from the window seat passenger. Though, I didn't care. I had been living and studying on this island for the past six weeks, and I just wanted to get one last look at her: her palm trees, lush green mountains, and her sugar cane fields, all of which nurture and carve her verdurous soil, and trace the soft edges of white-sand beaches along her shores. I leaned in a little closer, inching further across the window seat passenger, a dark young man who actually looked familiar; he must have been a local.
The pilot started the engine, and the wing propellers began to spin into a blurred oblivion. My stomach churned and my heart ached, and I could feel the tears harbor in my eyes.
His eyes. Green and intense. I saw them in my mind as I closed my own, and went back to that day, that place, when everything suddenly made sense and felt right. Maybe it wasn't ever deja vu, and it may seem trite, though I just knew that I was supposed to be there. The large, cement bench was circular and awkward, but he was sitting across from me. He was holding a pack of French cigarettes in one hand, and leaning the back of his head against the other. He looked like the statue of a Greek god. He didn't resemble her other locals; but he spoke her language, and when he spoke, she spoke, and it was effortlessly magnificent. My heart paced and my stomach fluttered each time our eyes met and locked like magnets.
The little plane jumped forward into motion and shook me from her trance. Madinina seemed to have that affect on all of us. Her people were always friendly and interesting, despite the strife of poverty, unemployment, and colonialism; how could one even begin to feel depressed in such a magical place? Yes, she cast a spell on all of us that month, and like a hand she still pulls at my heart and distracts my mind, many months later. There is no logical explanation for the magic that took place or the prophecies which unfurled while living on this tiny island. Her land was rich, but jobs were sparse and her natives were always strapped for cash; but they were never broken, and she is all that they have left. They call her Madinina.
Author's Note: This is a non-fictional piece, and there is obviously more to tell about this particular experience; but it is personal, and it all took place over such a long duration of time that I am not certain I will write more on this topic. Though, if I it is well-received, and I do decide to write its sequels, and if they are published, then please stay-tuned!
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