The Airport

In the car, I see a different world ahead. Planes landing, planes leaving. People walking, people rushing, people hugging, people pushing trolleys heaped with colourful suitcases and carry-on luggage. I don't remember a place like the airport because everywhere else is so much about staying in one place or settling down; here, it's about saying goodbye and walking away, or saying hello and walking away. The feel of people coming together and parting ways is everpresent, no matter how long I stay.

Nostalgia - longing for something that has past. One can describe how I feel using that word but they wouldn't be entirely accurate. That said, I don't see why anyone else would want to describe how I feel, not to mention their ability to do that. I do, though, and I am able.

So after going through the filter where my dad pressed the button on a rectangular machine (followed by the spitting out of a parking card and the lifting of a barrier) we drove on a small road to the entrance to the parking lot. Nearer to the building that said Departures vehicles slotted in spaces marked by white paint that looked fresh but probably wasn't, just longlasting. We got out, found a luggage trolley and proceeded to fill it with suitcases until satisfied that there would be no collapse and thus no injury to limbs, belongings or otherwise.

Inside, we went through check-in at the wrong place (according to the signs) but they took us anyway. The scene leading up to this: a built man in a pink shirt reading a newspaper that looked anglo-foreign, rarer faces looking everywhere and nowhere within the queue itself, some European, some far-away-from-Europe, men in suits from the top floor of a skyscraper, sisters traveling together, friends worrying about missing their flight, the man on the intercom speaking in a clear voice his message then uttering the ominous This is the final call. Others probably were feeling tension, but I certainly wasn't. Instead, I felt peace, a calm awareness that around me, people were waiting in line to check in. I felt no rush, whereas mum seemed to stress herself with the rush.

Released from our luggage, we went upstairs. We said bye by the rectangular archway that probably lead to the of the airport. The sign said passengers only. Hugs, kisses, tears. I didn't feel sad, I was simply allowing what happened to happen. And it did. And they were off. And we went home.