5 min

“Did You Just Get Off The Plane?” by Nicole García Merida The Aurelia Magazine Podcast

    • Literature

This is the Aurelia podcast, bringing you essays and articles in audio format. There will be occasional discussions surrounding the pieces mentioned as well as various newsworthy topics with a range of guests.Please like and share, as well as subscribe, to stay up to date and be informed of the latest episodes.Read all of the articles you hear on the Aurelia podcast at www.aureliamagazine.comFollow us on instagram @aureliamagazineTweet us @aureliamagazineFollow us on Tumblr hereLike us on Facebook www.facebook.com/aureliamagazineAurelia is a digital magazine for everyone, dedicated to beautiful content. We publish essays, articles, poetry, prose and artwork by self-identifying women, trans women and non-binary people. Each piece revolves around the first-person; we love and celebrate personal feelings, thoughts and experiences, written and communicated in such a striking way that makes each piece interesting.To submit a piece for publication go here “Did You Just Get Off The Plane?” by Nicole García MeridaOn his third visit to England, my father was pulled over by a police officer for driving over the speed limit. “Did you just get off the plane?” the officer barked. My father just said yes. “Your driving is s**t. You should’ve looked into the speed limit. There is a way to do things here, you know.” He was fined £500. Even though we both understand that there certainly is a ‘way’ of doing things in this country, I didn’t think there was any need for the police officer to ask my dad to get into the police car, reprimand him so harshly or even patronise him. My dad is going to dispute the fine, and even though I believe it will be to no avail, I think it’s important that he gets the chance to.  When my boyfriend first visited my homeland, Guatemala, I took him on a nine-hour trip to the jungle in the north of the country where he fell ill with a 42 degree fever on our last day there. I drove him to the nearest pharmacy, where the pharmacist laid out a piece of cardboard on the floor and injected him with something she didn’t charge me for, because he was a tourist. “He’s having a bad time as it is,” she said as he attempted to get up. “We don’t want him to have a bad time here! Don’t worry about the money.” The village’s tourism administrator was there too, and when my boyfriend eventually managed to stagger to his feet, he subsequently fainted and hit his head on a Coca Cola fridge. The tourism administrator immediately called an ambulance. “I know a doctor at the hospital, it’s only a half hour drive. We’ll get him in the ambulance, I’ll call the police and they can escort you so that you can drive behind us,” he said whilst still on hold to his friend, the doctor. “I don’t have a licence,” I managed to mumble, my voice shaky and sick with worry. He took my hand and I felt the calluses on his palms and the tips of his fingers. “You have to do what you have to do. It’s fine. I won’t tell, and they won’t ask.” In retrospect, it may have been unwise for me to drive nine hours back to the capital city without a licence, but he was right. No one asked. These circumstances — although vastly different — trace divergent lines in my experience of having lived in both countries. In fact, the difference can be felt directly from the moment you get off the airplane. In Guatemala, tourists are welcomed with smiles and broken English. At Heathrow, the random selection demographic in the security areas are predominantly brown, black, and immigrant. In Guatemala, tourists are praised for their light hair and their blue eyes. Young barefoot children come up to them in the street, asking to take pictures with them. They laugh, holding their fingers up in a peace sign.Once, when I was speaking on the phone to my mother in Spanish, I was told to ‘f**k off back to

This is the Aurelia podcast, bringing you essays and articles in audio format. There will be occasional discussions surrounding the pieces mentioned as well as various newsworthy topics with a range of guests.Please like and share, as well as subscribe, to stay up to date and be informed of the latest episodes.Read all of the articles you hear on the Aurelia podcast at www.aureliamagazine.comFollow us on instagram @aureliamagazineTweet us @aureliamagazineFollow us on Tumblr hereLike us on Facebook www.facebook.com/aureliamagazineAurelia is a digital magazine for everyone, dedicated to beautiful content. We publish essays, articles, poetry, prose and artwork by self-identifying women, trans women and non-binary people. Each piece revolves around the first-person; we love and celebrate personal feelings, thoughts and experiences, written and communicated in such a striking way that makes each piece interesting.To submit a piece for publication go here “Did You Just Get Off The Plane?” by Nicole García MeridaOn his third visit to England, my father was pulled over by a police officer for driving over the speed limit. “Did you just get off the plane?” the officer barked. My father just said yes. “Your driving is s**t. You should’ve looked into the speed limit. There is a way to do things here, you know.” He was fined £500. Even though we both understand that there certainly is a ‘way’ of doing things in this country, I didn’t think there was any need for the police officer to ask my dad to get into the police car, reprimand him so harshly or even patronise him. My dad is going to dispute the fine, and even though I believe it will be to no avail, I think it’s important that he gets the chance to.  When my boyfriend first visited my homeland, Guatemala, I took him on a nine-hour trip to the jungle in the north of the country where he fell ill with a 42 degree fever on our last day there. I drove him to the nearest pharmacy, where the pharmacist laid out a piece of cardboard on the floor and injected him with something she didn’t charge me for, because he was a tourist. “He’s having a bad time as it is,” she said as he attempted to get up. “We don’t want him to have a bad time here! Don’t worry about the money.” The village’s tourism administrator was there too, and when my boyfriend eventually managed to stagger to his feet, he subsequently fainted and hit his head on a Coca Cola fridge. The tourism administrator immediately called an ambulance. “I know a doctor at the hospital, it’s only a half hour drive. We’ll get him in the ambulance, I’ll call the police and they can escort you so that you can drive behind us,” he said whilst still on hold to his friend, the doctor. “I don’t have a licence,” I managed to mumble, my voice shaky and sick with worry. He took my hand and I felt the calluses on his palms and the tips of his fingers. “You have to do what you have to do. It’s fine. I won’t tell, and they won’t ask.” In retrospect, it may have been unwise for me to drive nine hours back to the capital city without a licence, but he was right. No one asked. These circumstances — although vastly different — trace divergent lines in my experience of having lived in both countries. In fact, the difference can be felt directly from the moment you get off the airplane. In Guatemala, tourists are welcomed with smiles and broken English. At Heathrow, the random selection demographic in the security areas are predominantly brown, black, and immigrant. In Guatemala, tourists are praised for their light hair and their blue eyes. Young barefoot children come up to them in the street, asking to take pictures with them. They laugh, holding their fingers up in a peace sign.Once, when I was speaking on the phone to my mother in Spanish, I was told to ‘f**k off back to

5 min