Among the hustle and bustle of awkward goodbyes being passed around towards the end of the school year, I sometimes manage to salvage some good ones. In one particular good bye to a close friend, I made a sorry attempt to explain why I love, I mean disgustingly love, airports. I think I said something along the lines of, “I love airports because in an airport you can be anyone!”
My friend, being close as he was understood my vulnerable confession, and and feigned as earnest of a response as he could, “ Hmm…that is interesting.” I, feeling as if I had opened new doors ways in his life, was of course elated with this answer… Only to later receive a text a few days later from him in an airport saying, “ I was thinking about what you said about airports… and I really don’t get it.”
So yeah…major fail. However, if I know anything in life it is that I love airports. Before getting on my flight I promised I would explain in further detail upon arrival in Kigali, so this my attempt to keep my word to you, and redeem the fanastical world of airports in the process.
Although “Up in the Air,” painted the world of airports in an economically efficient and detached life style invariably leading the gorgeous George Clooney to only feel emotional emptiness, I think “The Terminal” did a much better job of envisioning the world I see when I enter an airport. Except I didn’t have to be homeless to get there.
Airports are in fact a microcosm of almost all that is good and bad in life. Humanity can be seen at its ugliest while exhausted mothers shake their children violently in the hopes of shutting them up and overweight baggage reveals to us what we cannot live with out. Relationships of every kind are sprawled across languages concealing them and despite this emotions of every kind translate clearly, suddenly as plain English.
Judgment is impossible in an airport. Expectations are useless. Mainly because everyone has got a story. The punk ass skater boy, who my mum assumes actually forgot his belt, is on his way to an NIH conference where he will be giving a presentation on neurogenesis. The old white couple who drift off so often you hope they make it to their plane are on their 4th mission to the Uganda. The And then there’s you. You, in the moment you sit next to that stranger in your terminal, could be anyone.
That unfulfilled dream of a being a Harvard undergrad could be reality, rugby could be your genius, and life long shyness could be lost in the new you. The truth is in that moment you create your future, your present and your past, and the person sitting next to you reacts to this.
Now you are probably wondering why the hell someone would want to do this. It probably slightly manic and psychologist recommended. But in the hour or two you spend in that terminal, why the hell not? Its not everyday your are given testing ground for different yous in a microcosm of the world? Have fun with it. Go wild. Punk yourself out. Then depart at the next connecting flight until you find the you, that’s..you.
This was one of the ways I discovered the skin I loved to be in, and now also how I learned to accept the skin that I am in. I learned that people are instantly fascinated with the more extroverted me, but that I can truly only breathe when I am introverted. I learned the importance of first impressions, but also the thrill of being honest about your beliefs, and standing by them to a complete stranger. I learned that some connections transcend languages, especially babies, and to always talk to the person next to you even if you never see them again, because the conversations have always been worth it.
This being said it should be no surprise that I love trains and buses as well, while I am not so sure about ferries… Either way I hope this shows you at least a portion of the world I see in airports. A world of crazy people, of great potential, and in general, a perfect display of being human. So check it out sometime. At least it would make that 5-hour lay over a little more tolerable.
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