There is something nostalgic about going to the airport to pick up someone…
Loved ones with roses, or balloons. People lingering in the room. All minding their own
business, some people resting, killing time before their next adventure. Others looking at the flight status screen, wondering if the plane is on approach or if the giant motored bird has finally perched.
Walking back and forth as if movement turns to comfort, like waiting for your food to arrive when at a restaurant, filling the minutes with small talk hoping the time flies by.
Some wonder if they are at the right gate, others wonder if through that door their loved one will appear. Its sad however, when the roles are reversed. When one arrives and wonders if their loved ones are out there, if through that door you will find that someone waiting there, tough its sad when you’re out and no-one recognizable awaits.
Seeing families arrive, mothers with carriages, luggage and full smiles. Maybe they had an amazing trip, maybe they got away with things, or maybe they are just glad they have that moment at that exact time.
Those waiting for their loved ones wonder when seeing others arrive, where is that person coming from? Did that person arrive in the same flight as ________ (insert name of person here)? Why did they come out before? Did they have any difficulty getting through customs, I should stop worrying, I am sure everything is okay.
For those that are waiting for their loved ones to arrive, nostalgia fills their being with emotions that can’t be denied. Wishing they were the ones arriving, wishing they were on that trip, happy to have seen their loved ones even if it was just for a few weeks.
Wishing that you were the one arriving from vacation, wondering what it would have been like to spend some time away from all the craziness here, in this big city, the city that never sleeps, where work and home are the vicious cycle of those that inhabit it.