My New Unrelated Family

Arrival: Evangeline Adler

My life is a drama.

Seriously.

As I tell my friends about it, they tell me all the time that it's like I'm living a cliched sitcom with an unimaginative storyline.

So here I am. Telling the story of my life, as cliched as it's plot may seem to be, it's all true.

Seriously.
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.
.
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I stepped off the plane with relief. What was only meant to be a quick and easy 4 hour flight from California to Virginia with a stop-over in Dallas had turned into 17 hours of cancelled flights, rebooking, and wandering through airports. A major storm and 3 flight transfers later, an exhausted Evangeline Adler had finally arrived at her destination.

I can't believe I made it. And I thought my flight across the world was bad. 17 hours?? It's like I came from the Philippines all over again.

I dragged myself across the airport and prayed that my mediocre navigational skills could get me to the baggage claim without fail. My overweight carry-on backpack dug into my shoulders, making each and every step more and more of a challenge. If there's one thing I learned from my travels around the world it's that they NEVER doubt my backpack.

They look at me, a petite 5"2 innocent cute girl, with my large pink backpack and large purple suitcase. The only thing I ever get questioned for is my ability to travel alone. "Yes, I just turned 18. Yes, I am capable of flying across the world. Yes, I've been doing it all my life.  May I go now? "

Some airports (and countries) highly discourage those small 'carry-on' suitcases and even make such a fuss about it that you have to check it in anyways. In all my traveling experience, I've learned to never check in my carry-on. No matter how painfully the straps are biting into my tired shoulders right now nor how aware I am of every heavy ounce of oil paints, acrylics, paint brushes, sketchpads and colored pencils weighing down my backpack--never shall I ever risk them to the unreliable cargo belly of the plane. I didn't care if my backpack weighed a heavy 35 pounds, about 30% of my 108-pound weight. I just can't lose my stuff.

My art is my life.
Seriously.

It's how I pay for my expensive trips around the world. I'm a volunteer relief worker/artist. I pass out food or medicine, bag some rotting corpses, rebuild houses, comfort the grieving, and make artworks of the tragedy I see to raise awareness of the situation and funds for my next relief effort. There's a fancy shmancy name for what I do--Evangeline Adler, missionary to the world. If there's a need, I go there to help.

And right now, I need a shower and a bed.

*bzzz* *bzzz*

I dug out my buzzing phone from the depths of my purse. 

We are almost there! Meet you outside baggage claim B. Brought some dinner, glad you finally arrived. Welcome home to Virginia Beach! Stay safe while you wait for us!

My stomach queasily somersaulted.

Home. Was I ready to call this my new home?

Virginia Beach had a lot of military residents. That much I could see from crowd of camo around the baggage conveyor belt. I awkardly squeezed my way between two burly uniformed men and waited for my suitcase.

It was easy to spot amidst the black no-nonsense lugagge of businessmen and the camo brown duffle bags of the military. There it glided, large, square, and PURPLE!

I dropped my pink backpack on the floor and stretched my arms in anticipation as my PURPLE suitcase crept towards me. The two muscled men beside me looked at each other then at me in amusement. I kcould tell one of them was considering offering to help, but I had my game-face on and my body language totally projected an I GOT THIS attitude.