I was recently detained at the border between the United States and Canada.
My friends and I decided that it would be fun to spend some time in Montreal before the school year got too tough. Unfortunately, to our dismay, the school year got tough before classes started. Despite the fact that we spent a decent amount of time working during our trip, it was super fun! I got to spend quality time with my friends in a new country, and we were all able to drink legally. (That wasn’t the main point of the trip, but let’s just say it played a pretty big factor in the destination!) Overall, the trip was excellent and memorable, so much so that every single one of us got sick! I may be patient zero for the Tufts plague…
After our trip, we expected our drive back to be relatively easy — the only challenges being quieting our hangovers and not going crazy over some ridiculous ‘would you rather’ questions. Unfortunately, we were wrong.
At the border crossing, my friends and I were bombarded with questions ranging from the routine ‘Where are you coming from?’ to the more unexpected, like a round of two truths and a lie. When the agent asked if we had anything to declare, one of my friends leaned in with suspicious innocence and dubious intent and announced, “I declared that I currently possess 17 beers in the trunk!” The agent did not like that.
He snatched the keys from the driver and proceeded to inspect every nook and cranny of the car. When he opened the trunk, he meticulously handled all 17 beers, pulling them one-by-one out of the case. He even shotgunned one, leaving us with only 16.
After his thorough inspection, he silently returned to his booth and started furiously writing. He wrote as if he was the next Shakespeare. After some time, he told us that he was writing us up for minor possession of alcohol (despite the fact that two of us were 21) and instructed us to go inside. Our passports and keys were confiscated and shortly thereafter we were escorted inside by a border patrol agent. Scary times.
Inside, we sat side by side on some chairs. We couldn’t talk to each other, nor use our phones. We sat there anxiously waiting. During this time, instead of thinking about what could happen to us, my mind drifted to one of the questions the border patrol agent asked us: “Who are you?”
When he posed the question, I answered with my legal name, as listed on my passport. But deep down, I questioned myself: Who am I?
It’s hard to believe that the school year has just begun. Only two weeks in, and it already feels like I have been here my whole life. But that’s not true. Just a few weeks ago, I was commuting on the L train to my internship in downtown Chicago, sleeping in the same bedroom I have had since middle school and hanging out with friends I’ve known since I was 4 years old. Now, all of that feels like a different life.
Can I confidently say that is who I am: my Chicago self? Or, is it my Tufts self? What about when I graduate college? Will I shift to another self yet again?
These questions haunted me as I sat in detainment. The very essence of who I am felt called into question. It reminded me of a conversation I had with someone about their summer: They loved who they were during those months and worried that returning to Tufts would mean leaving that self behind.
When I was talking with them initially, I didn’t offer any good advice. But sitting at the border, I realized that maybe the point isn’t to choose one ‘true’ self. Being detained doesn’t define who I am — it’s just one version of me, a single sliver of the complete picture.
Life is full of moments like being detained: moments that test us, surprise us, excite us or even embarrass us. Each one adds another layer to who we are. Instead of searching for one true self or thinking that I can only be one version of myself, I think the real growth comes from noticing and celebrating the different pieces of ourselves. The fun, the awkward, the silence and the spontaneous versions all shape us, guiding us toward the individual we are becoming. And honestly, isn’t it kind of exciting to have a wardrobe of selves to wear?
My existential crisis ended there because we were called up to figure out our 17-beer situation. The agent at the desk looked at us, asked who was 21 years old and then threw our passports and keys back at us and told us to get out and not drink and drive.
We drove the rest of the way back to campus without any more surprises (other than the fact that my friend ordered four small waters from McDonalds…)
So, in the end, the next time I am at the border being detained, and I get asked, “Who are you?” I’ll just give them the truth: “I’m 17 beers deep, and I’m still figuring it out.”
Officially detained,
Ben Rachel
