Airports

It occurred to me, sitting at an airport, how much meaning and sentiment it holds for people. Personally, I dislike them. I hate going through check in, security, customs, and waiting for my flight. But a lot of people look forward to this; they see it as an opportunity to go somewhere new, explore the unknown, and ultimately get lost in some romanticized adventure. My mother is one of these people. Although she’s never really been anywhere, except for a few places, she told me she wanted to be at the airport a few hours ago. Me, on the other hand, I like traveling, especially before it happens or right as it’s about to happen. But usually not during or soon after. I can plan for hours what I’m going to be doing every hour of a day when I’m in Paris or New York, but as soon as I’m actually there, I become anxious: I need to carry out this plan that I already set.

My mom and my friends enjoy the trip, relatively. I say relatively just because I’m usually not in the happiest mood traveling because I’m trying to get everything done. But traveling should be an idealized adventure, and I should have a better attitude about airports. I mean I’m blessed enough to be traveling back and forth from home to school to just random cities and places. But don’t get me started on planes… They’re awful, even if I fall asleep for the entire time.

These days, airports just mean another waiting game and another “I hope this flight isn’t delayed” ordeal. Anxiety, anxiety, and more anxiety is basically what it is. That being said, I haven’t stayed up this late since… December(?) on my trip to the hospital. It’s 3:41AM and I’m not sure if I’ll publish this piece, but I just thought it was interesting – the dynamic of airports, how they represent something different for everyone. Could be something painful, beautiful, unknown. Whereas to me, they’re just waiting rooms.

 

 

| EDIT: Wrote this the night I left for home on spring break. | 

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