There’s just something so inherently unsettling about airport. Or, to be precise, waiting alone for your departure in the airport.
Maybe it’s the knowledge that you’re about to leave, departing from your familiar zone into uncharted territories. Back to being an “Englishman in New York“, to loneliness and feeling like you’re a stranger, overwhelmed by your surroundings. Because you know full well that after years of living alone in another town or another country, you don’t really belong. Not in either place.
Or maybe it’s because there’s that constant buzz in your mind, dampening your spirit and turning you into this nervous ball of energy. Making your stomach churns and your heart palpitates, nauseous and ready to bail. To go somewhere, anywhere but this god forsaken hell your mind trapped you in.
And maybe it’s because time slowed down when you’re waiting for your impending valediction. So you’re forced to remember and think about all those unfinished businesses. The words you’ve never said or wish you hadn’t, questions you shouldn’t voiced or those you wish you’ve asked, feelings you wish you’ve make peace with, and goodbyes you wish you’ve – or could’ve – bid. Of people you wish to be here to hold your hands, or at least to be on the other side of the phone, and talk you out of your jitters. Remembering the last time you’ve had that kind of person and wondering how the hell did it all go wrong, prompting you to miss them and evoking these impulses to do stupid thing like dialing their number even though you know you can’t or sending a text message you’d later regret.
Maybe it’s all of the above. All I know is that there’s this melancholy filter, eliciting all kind of ominous emotions and disruptive train of thoughts. A suffocating state of affairs that coerced me to come to terms with the possibility of one final goodbye.
And though I know you’d hate to read this, but at this moment, that is not the kind of musing I’d shut out.
À la mort.