BY KIAN KASSAM*
In the following excerpt from his travel memoir, Bottles & Waves, author Kian Kassam turns the simple act of traveling with luggage into a thoughtful meditation on freedom, security, and the unseen burdens we carry. Through moments of humor, self-awareness, and tenderness—especially in his relationship with his mother—he reveals how even the smallest choices mirror the larger struggles of holding on and letting go.
It reminds me of the worst part about traveling. Perhaps “worst” is an overstatement, but it’s certainly the most inconvenient part. It’s the baggage. Packing and unpacking. Loading and unloading. Making sure I don’t forget something while battling the nagging feeling that I certainly did. Even when everything is accounted for, I still can’t shake it—just another manifestation of my paranoia.
The more good clothes I pack, the more invested I’ll be, and the better I’ll look when I get where I’m going. But it’s more nerve-wracking to check my bags, and the more intently I watch the carousel at baggage claim. Even physical baggage carries psychological weight. I guess that’s why we call them possessions.
It makes me wonder—why don’t I hold on to my bag? If I put in a little extra effort, I can avoid the anxiety. Is it laziness? No, that doesn’t seem quite right. Convenience? Yes, that’s more like it. My temporary physical freedom comes with invisible shackles, which I forget I’m wearing until I’m confronted with the possibility that someone lost my precious possessions. Only for the universe to dispel the notion when my bag finally rounds the corner of the carousel, ending my anxious anticipation. Even after reuniting, one thought lingers: I should’ve just carried my damn bags. The suffering is real, even if it’s minimal.
On the way to Houston, I didn’t have to worry about this. For the first time, I flew without checking my bag because my mother and I didn’t think we could afford the time. When we arrived at the gate, we had time to kill, and the urgency we initially felt seemed so misguided. We were left holding the bags, but it was lucky that we had extra time.
She’d told me to eat before leaving the house because she didn’t want to pay airport prices for fast food. I didn’t take her advice. By the time we set foot on the escalator to the terminal, my stomach was grumbling, so my hunger and I escalated in tandem. It didn’t help that the fragrant aroma of food wafted into my nose. I’m sure I salivated like one of Pavlov’s dogs.
When we got to the gate, I looked at my mom with the most endearing puppy eyes. She relented. Mothers can’t stand the thought of their children going hungry. At least good ones can’t. Mine’s a great one. She said we could circle back to the restaurant that had caught my nose.
“Who’s going to watch the bags?” I asked.
“Trust me, Kian, no one wants your shit. They’ve got enough of their own to worry about,” she shot back.
“Probably, but why risk it?” I snapped. I was definitely hungry.
This is one of the key differences between us. She trusts the probabilities and forgets the possibilities—unless there’s an unusually high lottery jackpot. I anticipate the probabilities but don’t discount the possibilities. I guess that’s why she buys lottery tickets, and I sell them. When I do consider the improbable, it’s almost always from fear—like a plane crashing into the ocean. Writing is the exception. That’s why I’m doing this—because I might have what it takes to fly.
She didn’t verbally concede, but she stayed to watch the bags. That was all I really wanted. I think she did it just to make me happy. My whole life, she’s done everything in her power to take care of me, even if it meant doing something she didn’t want to. She’s always put my needs first—ahead of her own dreams, her own contentment. She has a soft spot for me, but as you know, she won’t spare me the truth. More than anything, she wants me to become the man I’m meant to be, and she’s finally getting what she wants. No one in this world loves me more, even when we fight. It’s one of my greatest aspirations in life to make the most of what she’s given me and become truly deserving of the love she has for me. To make her proud. Like I said, she’s a great mother. If there’s anything you take away about her, let it be this.
I bought food for both of us, and we wolfed it down at the gate while our plane taxied to the jet bridge. Soon enough, we boarded the plane, and I was in the awkward position of searching for overhead space. I didn’t want to slow down too much, afraid of inconveniencing the other passengers by forcing them to stand still for a couple of extra seconds. Once I found an opening, I effortlessly swung my bag up and slid it into place.
My mom gave me her bag, noticeably heavier and thicker. It was a different story. Far from effortless. Effortful, even. I swung it up and began to push it into place. It slid in about halfway before getting stuck. Damn it. She overpacked, I thought, trying to find a solution to my predicament. I looked back at everyone else and gave them a chuckle to let them know I was working on it. They didn’t laugh, and I frantically considered whether more force would solve my problem or just make more of them. Each passing moment felt heavier. And this is why we check our bags in.
Whichever choice I make, the alternative always feels preferable. Every choice trades one weight for another—especially when it comes to freedom and security. Yes, I’m confident no one else is going to lose my bag, but now it’s my burden to bear. And I’m still not sure which I value more—the security of holding on or the freedom of letting go.
I’ve spent my whole life clinging to bad habits and painful beliefs because it was all I knew. I was collecting bags, and I didn’t even realize it. Writing all of this has brought clarity and relief; it feels like I’m finally remembering who I am by letting go of who I’m not. Though the story isn’t over. I’ve still got a couple of bags to drop. The heaviest I’ve ever carried.
Buy Bottles & Waves on Amazon.
*Kian Kassam is a writer and student of philosophy whose work explores the balance between emotional depth and intellectual clarity. His debut memoir and forthcoming books examine art, ethics, and the pursuit of meaning in a changing world.
