A strange feeling overwhelms me every time I walk into a crowd, like when I’m walking down the alley running across campus by the library, or when I stand in the middle of a busy place like a square or an airport. When I see the faces of people all around me, I realize that I am a mere drop in a sea of people.
These feelings are heightened by the fact that I am a foreigner in this country. There are jokes I can’t tell because they won’t make sense, or poems I can’t read because they won’t rhyme in English, which can be unsettling. I see and hear things as someone shaped by the memory of a place left behind, and my consciousness and emotions feel left out in a place I am not adjusted to.
Being surrounded by a sea of people who presumably have nothing in common with you is a frightening, isolating thought, but one movie taught me that it is natural to feel lost in a crowd.
“The Terminal” is one of Steven Spielberg’s less famous movies — it did not leave the same kind of “mark” on popular culture as some of his other films, but it nonetheless resonates with me. The movie tells the story of Viktor Navorski from the fictional country of Krakozhia. Navorski flies from his home to New York to get an autograph from a saxophone player, but gets stranded in JFK airport as his country collapses into civil war and his passport becomes defunct.
I remember watching the movie for the first time before coming to America and being impressed, then watching it a second time as an immigrant and being simply amazed. The film masterfully depicts the loneliness, isolation and desperation of a human lost among crowds.
Of all the scenes and quotes in the movie, one in particular captures this sentiment most clearly and sincerely. Viktor finds out that his country has collapsed into civil war on TV, and can barely hold back his tears. He desperately wants to use a payphone to call home, but he doesn’t know how to ask for help in English. The camera slowly pulls away from Viktor as he becomes smaller, smaller and smaller in a sea of people he is so hopelessly lost in.
I find the meaning of my life in Viktor Navorski’s loneliness. That singular moment in time when his emotions are for him alone, when no one else can or even cares to understand him, is when he is truly “lost” in life.
Though not everyone reacts the same way to such loneliness, the metaphorical void we fall into during times of alienation brings out our true character. Some become afraid and close themselves in for safety, while others turn to cynicism and become outcasts, mocking the rest of the crowd. Many fall somewhere in between, where their isolation becomes internalized and unavoidable.
Alienation must not be a wall, but a gateway to a new mindset. It is natural to feel lonely, and it is one of the most human feelings to feel lost, ignored or minuscule in the foreignness of unfamiliar spaces. Yet, it is not the strangeness that makes alienation scary, but the fear of discovery and the lack of will to explore what is foreign. The modern human seeks comfort more than the thrill of the unknown — the familiar is easy to hide in, while the unknown is a mystery, leaving us feeling exposed.
I still look back at “The Terminal” as a symbol of who I once was — being lost was, for the longest time, all I could define myself by.
The fear of exploring the unknown is what I tried so hard to challenge as a foreigner in this country. Seeking new things to do, say, see and learn made my experience easier to understand and overcome. From where I stand today, I look back on who I was with a smile on my face, because I know in hindsight that those times when I was lost in the crowds are when I had the curiosity to explore my new domain in life.
I still feel that sense of being “lost” among crowds here today, but I’ve grown into the mindset of taking comfort in this sight. Knowing that my life story is in my hands, and that these lands are becoming more of a home to me with each passing day, makes everything feel more human.
So long as there is a will to find meaning in life, the image of chaos must not scare us, whether that be the largeness of crowds, the sight of unfamiliar lands or the fear of the unknown future.
We must strive to find, and if necessary, invent, our own place in the world. In the end, the answer to the chaos of what is foreign is the creation of a purpose that is completely our own. This is how one might find meaning, and perhaps a bit of solace in feeling “lost.”
Deniz Gulay is a junior double-majoring in history and Russian.
Views expressed in the opinions pages represent the opinions of the columnists. The only piece that represents the view of the Pipe Dream Editorial Board is the Staff Editorial.