The Passports

by Emily Curwood

Rain forest, Fiji

People often ask; ‘what’s your earliest memory?’ and my reply normally results in silence and a perplexed face- I may be seventeen and my childhood not as distant a memory as most, but the years of the 2000s seem to mould into one tangled clump. As a result, memories of a time where school, work, society weren’t in the picture are symbolised by senses and images of vibrancy rather than the actual events experienced. The feeling of warmth, vivid greens and blues and the smell of salt in the air remind me of the travels that followed me round throughout my childhood years, when a plane seemed just as normal as a car and my passports were like my diary, updated monthly with new adventures, each stamp possessing feelings of joy or bliss or even adrenaline-fuelled fear. I guess my destiny with travel was written when, at two months old, I had clocked up more air miles than most people would in a year or even more. But my younger self was oblivious to the concept of planes, of distance, of even travel; the Fijian Rainforest felt as if it was just down the road, a nap and then you’re there. Travelling was nothing but advantageous; the acclimatisation to long hours with no sleep and a pesky thing I soon found out was called jet lag, and the experience of learning from such a young age the vast array of cultures, people and landscapes that blesses our world.

Looking retrospectively it has been incredible to grow up at a time of such technological advances, and travel definitely acts as an example for that ever-evolving experience I have familiarised with, whether it be through the rise of Apple and iPads and iPhones or the creation of A380 planes that magically take you thousands of miles to the other side of the world. However, my travels also signify something greater, and more personal, than simply what I see, it symbolises time with family. Obviously if I didn’t have dual-nationality I’m sure my upbringing would’ve been vastly different and the pages of my passports would look a little bit barer, but the fact that I had to travel thousands upon thousands of hours to see family made me appreciate it that bit more. Every other year when Christmas comes around my first thought isn’t the presents nor the food, not even the sleep-ins, but the fact that I get to see my grandparents and auntie, uncle and cousin for the first time in two years (although I must admit spending Christmas in 30 degree heat is definitely a influencing factor!). While I am writing about my past, the evolutionary experiences that morph into the memories I possess today, I don’t hesitate to dream about the future; wondering when the next trip is, planning, planning and planning to make sure this precious time whether with family or with breath-taking landscapes that can never be taken for granted is not wasted, and taking photos, videos, creating scrapbooks so that these treasured memories that have shaped who I am are never ever forgotten.