the sound of the car zipping up the ramp towards departures, the larger than life birds thundering over me on a mission to venture to far off lands, while some arrive home easing their engines. i roll my temporary life, zipped into a couple boxes on wheels, through the automatic doors and onto the belt; the belt then relays it to the big bird who awaits my arrival. i have about three hours left until i take my seat. three hours of soaking in airport magic before the exhilarating journey.
first things first after check-in, a hot cup of coffee. with my vanilla latte in hand, i roam the airport before i settle down to write and read a bit. people walk in all directions, speaking languages from all over the world, some in suits and ties, jeans and t shirts, others in kimonos, sarees, salwar kameez, and kangas. as if the entire world were packed into this one airport. we’re all headed somewhere…
there is a CEO traveling to china for a business meeting that could take his company to the next level, a woman hoping to turn the lives around of little girls living in poverty struck calcutta by opening up a free school for them so they may study rather than work, a man traveling to syria to teach english in a war zone, a family traveling to africa to start a project that will deliver fresh water to rural villages. a daughter traveling to seattle to visit her father whom she hadn’t talked to in three years, a grandmother returning home to visit her new born granddaughter. a student arriving to begin film school where she is determined to transform her screenwriting dreams into reality.
but before we head to our respective destinations, who are we in that time spent at the airport…where we kill time by grabbing an overpriced magazine or book at the shop across gate 7A, aimlessly shop and wonder, and drink great coffee? who are we in those hours spent flying to our destination?
we are nomads, with no abode.