Airports and station points
What is it about airports that I love? Is the impending new journey? Or the waft of that new beginning? Or maybe, just maybe the stark array of diversity right there that hits you like a flush of inspiration.
People on their phones. Some staring into nothingness. Some revelling in the glamour of airport fashion - apparently it's a thing now. At least Meghana says so. (But, crop tops for a flight? Seriously?) The old folk judging them millenials. A cranky old man. His very relaxed wife. A scandalised grandmother. An observant youngster, doodling. An adventurous traveller with dreadlocks. An affluent reader that can see or hear none. The selfie person who has imbibed the art of ignorance rather well. A snoozer, a dozer and a snorer. A young mother trying her best to quash a tantrum, while a young father gives in to one.
Coffee indulgence. Saternine faces. Sprightly ones. Tense ones. Irritated ones. They're all there.
When I watch Love Actually and the movie begins with Hugh Grant's dialogue: "Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaky feeling you'll find that love actually is all around."
It's what I think of every time I enter an airport.
But whilst holding that thought steadily, I figured airports can also be about hearbreaks as much as they are about the love. They could also be about farewells, escape and melancholy. About a personal journey that's marking its end, or one that's just beginning. About some baggage that's being left behind, or carried forward, fear of intrusion and the nightmare of disillusionment.
At the nucleus though, they are about experiences, which somewhere play a part in shaping who we are. The grains are added, one at a time, gradually, in the gravel of that concrete mix that is life. Where should the focus be though? Love or the darker side? Utopia or dystopia? On different days it will be at different station points, like in perspective drawing. But in the end, it all comes down to a choice. What's yours?
People on their phones. Some staring into nothingness. Some revelling in the glamour of airport fashion - apparently it's a thing now. At least Meghana says so. (But, crop tops for a flight? Seriously?) The old folk judging them millenials. A cranky old man. His very relaxed wife. A scandalised grandmother. An observant youngster, doodling. An adventurous traveller with dreadlocks. An affluent reader that can see or hear none. The selfie person who has imbibed the art of ignorance rather well. A snoozer, a dozer and a snorer. A young mother trying her best to quash a tantrum, while a young father gives in to one.
Coffee indulgence. Saternine faces. Sprightly ones. Tense ones. Irritated ones. They're all there.
When I watch Love Actually and the movie begins with Hugh Grant's dialogue: "Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaky feeling you'll find that love actually is all around."
It's what I think of every time I enter an airport.
But whilst holding that thought steadily, I figured airports can also be about hearbreaks as much as they are about the love. They could also be about farewells, escape and melancholy. About a personal journey that's marking its end, or one that's just beginning. About some baggage that's being left behind, or carried forward, fear of intrusion and the nightmare of disillusionment.
At the nucleus though, they are about experiences, which somewhere play a part in shaping who we are. The grains are added, one at a time, gradually, in the gravel of that concrete mix that is life. Where should the focus be though? Love or the darker side? Utopia or dystopia? On different days it will be at different station points, like in perspective drawing. But in the end, it all comes down to a choice. What's yours?
Comments
Post a Comment