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This morning, I paid 30 bucks to wait for my sister who was coming home from Canada. Yes, you had to hand over cash to make use of all facilities presently available in the waiting area, which include two television sets – one that displays different flight schedules and another that desperately needs repair – around thirty, unpleasantly cold-to-the-bum metal chairs, and a good view of the arrival area. Yet despite the frustrating situation of Pinoy structures such as the aforementioned, I still hold this rather strange liking for airports. The smell of warm rubber from the check-in booth, the sound of electronic bells signaling an anticipated customer service announcement, the artificial current of chilly air, and the well planned out spaciousness of the area, when put together make up one large ball of pleasantness. I love to travel, but this is a relatively new leisure pursuit to me since I haven’t really gone anywhere “travel worthy”, that is, in its most profound sense – considerably out of the ordinary, or exotic. But I guess this inclination to travel has led me to my fascination for airports. These seemingly characterless structures, filled with nothing but x-ray machines, metal detectors, conveyor belts and people who can’t think of anything else to do with their money except to splurge it on business class face towels dipped in hot water, could actually speak a whole lot. The airport gives access to the world. It is the door to places we have learned about in History class. It is the entrance to foreign lands we have always dreamed of visiting. It is the key to a universe where an explorer, a wanderer, a navigator and a curious spirit could have anything and everything they could possibly ask for. Airports, on a deeper note, give room for an undisturbed kind of love that different people from different walks of life can each share in a single light. Not to be defensive about it or anything, but I’m not taking this from a “Love Actually”, nor from a “The Terminal” point of view, for those of you who have already seen these airport-based screenplays. Anyone who shares the same fascination for airports would sense the same pleasant feeling, of a 17-year old football varsity excitedly anticipating the electronic chime that would signal the arrival of his coach’s flight, a mother and daughter running to the arms of their one and only man, or an old lad giving his old lass both a welcome home and golden anniversary’s kiss. Airports are one of a kind. It’s a weird obsession but hey, we each have our own quirks. Post a comment in response: |
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