I met Concord, my girlfriend, during my freshman year in college. She lives in Korea with her family, so during the summer she stays in Korea. One night, as we were chatting she let me know that she missed me and asked if I could visit her in Korea. With nothing better to do, I decided that I missed her too. After begging my parents for a cultural experience, I was ready to go. But my Korean was limited to different foods, so I was a bit nervous. Still, an adventure awaited me. I was ready to explore Korea.

As I boarded the plane, I smiled because I was in an aisle seat and the plane wasn’t full. Aisle seats are a must for me because I have a weak bladder and need to go to the bathroom often, and I don’t care about having a view out the window. Of course, the middle seats are the worst, unless you are flanked by supermodels. Moreover, I once saw a movie in which someone got sucked out through an airplane window, so windows cause some significant unease on my part. As I waited for the plane to take off, I decided to put on a life soundtrack and was firmly in antisocial mode, immersed in some appropriate K-Pop. Soon the door was ready to close and I still had the aisle to myself. Life was good. Then an alarm complete with bells and flashing lights screamed inside my head. An Arab walked on to the plane just before the doors closed. He was wearing a keffiyeh (Arabic hat) on his head, had a bushy Arab beard and a serious Arab face complete with eyes that looked as if they had seen death. He was dressed in a black jacket and black jeans and holding a large suitcase. I knew that the bag had passed through security, but I couldn’t help it. Suspicion began to envelop me. Suddenly, I remembered a news article I had read in the morning as the title flashed before me. “Islamic Terrorist Hijacks Plane.” The terrorist was an Islamic extremist who somehow snuck a gun past security with his 3D printer gun. Fear joined suspicion, and I began to pray for the first time in my life. The prayer seemed weak, so I tried to will him away from me. “Don’t sit next to me,” my mind screamed repeatedly. The idea that if he were a terrorist, it wouldn’t matter where he sat somehow eluded me. The Arab terrorist kept approaching, despite my mental screams. He passed aisle after aisle without stopping and slowed to a shuffle at my aisle, filling me with dread and a feeling that he was going to sit next to me. I don’t know if it was because I’m an atheist, but my praying fell on deaf ears. As dreaded, the Arab “terrorist” stopped next to me and put his bag in the overhead storage bin. 

Then, I saw his mouth move. It seemed to speak music. I hastily removed my earbuds and said, “Excuse me?”

He said in flawless Chinese and English, “Ni hao, I think my seat is next to yours. May I go in?” 

He was so polite, but I told myself it was an act. Maybe because I wanted to believe he was a terrorist. Because I was shocked, I stammered “Uh sure, but I’m not Chinese.” I was angry that he made an assumption about me and annoyed at myself for making an incorrect assumption about him. I was as bad as the terrorist, but I wasn’t going to let him know it. 

“Oh,” sorry, he said.

I found myself automatically replying, “It’s OK. It happens a lot.”

He smiled and motioned toward his seat, so I swung my legs to the side and pressed them against the seat to make room for him.

“I know what you mean, people think I am an Arab all the time. Anyway, thanks and sorry I was late, but I was saying my prayers.”

I really wasn’t in the mood for conversation, but found myself responding.

“Are you afraid of flying?” I asked.

“Oh, no,” he laughed, “it was just one of my daily prayers. I’m Muslim.”

“Oh.”

“If you’re not Chinese then you must be Korean?”

It was a reasonable second assumption based on the plane’s destination. “No, I’m Japanese-American.”

“Oh, sorry again. I’m Turkish-American.”

“Excuse me, sir, please fasten your seatbelt.” It was the flight attendant. 

I looked over at him to realize that she was talking to me. Relieved that the flight attendant had ended our conversation, I inserted my earbuds to once again immerse myself in my life soundtrack. 

The flight continued in silence, but I held a conversation with myself about how stupid I was to make stupid assumptions. However, despite my inner dialogue, I still felt uneasy sitting next to the Turk. My unease made me uncomfortable. I wondered if I was a racist. Not the KKK kind, but the kind that didn’t know that he was a racist. “Am I a closet racist?” I asked myself. Is he a racist for assuming that I was Chinese? And racist again for assuming that I was Japanese? These thoughts plagued me until the plane landed safely. And when it did, I was relieved that my fears and stereotyping were unfounded. 

As we stood in the aisle to disembark, the Turk spoke to me for the last time. “Have a nice time in Korea. It was nice chatting with you.”

“Same to you, bye.” I replied, feeling a bit awkward. He didn’t know what I had thought about him, but then again, maybe he did. But I definitely knew and was ashamed.

After I retrieved my bags, I found Concord waiting for me in the public area. She waved enthusiastically when she spotted me. After a big hug and a nice kiss, we began to walk to her car. As we were walking, she asked me, “How was your flight?” 

I thought about telling Concord what happened on the plane, but continued to feel stupid, so I paused slightly before answering. “It was nothing special. I sat next to a really polite Turkish guy.” I added, “But all I could do was think about you.”

“You’re so sweet. But Aren’t Turkish people Muslims? Weren’t you afraid?” she asked. 

I smiled and replied, “Afraid of what? 

“You know. Terrorism.”

“Nah, airport security in Japan is airtight,” I replied with a hypocritical nonchalance.

At that moment, I saw the Turk. He was laughing and talking with his girlfriend, or was she his sister? She definitely wasn’t his mom. Aunt maybe? Cousin?

As I mused, our eyes met, and he waved a hearty final goodbye before he returned to his conversation. As I drove away with Concord to experience another adventure, I thought to myself, “Definitely his girlfriend.”