were on the outskirts of the Gobi desert.
I realized one thing when we arrived: I hated this place. There were no tumbling sand dunes,
just sandy patches of dirt covered with tiny shrubs. It was bland, not exotic. I tapped our tour
guide’s shoulder and I asked him where the sand dunes were and he replied, “Look around, do you
see any sand dunes here?” The “desert” lay flat and unexciting all the way to the horizon. Nothing
interrupted my view except for the two huts behind me and a handful of livestock. The houses
were large and circular white ‘Gers’ that could easily be assembled and disassembled; one of the
staple houses for Mongolian nomads. I watched as the man entered the hut and was welcomed
with warm embraces and hearty cheers by his family members. Once again, I had entered the grip
of loneliness, only this time I was stranded in a desert. As I looked out to the sparse landscape,
evidently starved of life, I felt nothing at all. This was not my home.
I think my discomfort must have been very obvious, as one of the women who had embraced
the man tightly, came over to me and ushered me into their hut. I was welcomed. The man’s
family embraced me as one of their own, even though I had no connection to their son, nor had
they known me for more than 5 minutes. I felt very awkward when the first person approached me
for a hug; I didn’t know her name yet she enveloped me heartily. I didn’t know what to do with my
arms, so they hung limp by my side. When the next person came, I was much more prepared. By
the fifth hug, I had perfected the positioning of my arms. It was only when all the welcoming had
finished and that his family began preparations for dinner did I realize the magnitude of what had
just transpired. I had been accepted, for the first time in my life, by strangers. A strange sensation
toyed with my mind. I had no idea what this feeling was, but it was warm and comforting. Despite
the fact that I didn’t speak any Mongolian, I was able to communicate with them very easily. The
objects and tools in the house were strange, but after a few demonstrations, I could handle them
with ease. In just one day, I had felt overabundance of emotions that I could not even name. Yet it
was welcoming, and much better than the feeling of loneliness. I realized that I did not even know
the name of the man who brought me to such a happy place. His name was Bataar – hero.
That night, after dinner had been served, I sat outside of the hut to watch the darkness take
over the land. I played with the sand beneath my fingertips and watched them fall one by one.
Suddenly, I felt so at peace. The sky seemed bigger here, and the stars glittered above me with
a luminescence I had never seen before. Below me, the sand quivered as a gentle breeze ruffled
through the air. I could feel the sand flying into the air and becoming stars, and the stars
falling from the sky and landing as the grains of sand slipping through my fingertips. I had felt
insignificant my whole life, like a grain of sand, essentially. But without insignificant grains of
sand, there would be no desert. I felt at one with what I saw before me.
When Bataar comes out to find me and asks if I feel at home, like it is just another question, I
breathe in the sharp clean scent of the night and revel in its familiarity.
I smile and say, “Yes.”
