Maybe it’s the twentieth time. I couldn’t quite surely tell, not that it did matter. I am all too familiar with this scene. The people coming and going carrying their bags or dragging strollers and boxes; the look of anticipation among those waiting on the other side of the lane; the taxi drivers and phone card retailers; it’s all too sickeningly familiar.
I used to meet someone here. I’d wait for him at least an hour before. And with all the inefficiency that goes with airports, I’d get to meet him after about two hours of waiting. Sometimes I’d hide, and I’d see him anxious and straining his neck to look for my familiar smile. Sometimes I’d walk straight towards him, just like in those romantic movies, and I smile shyly at first then I take his hand in mine and I don’t understand why I feel nervous, happy, and almost in tears at the same time. I remember the feeling of excitement; my thoughts are racing and my heart beating so fast that words can’t even follow, so I end up losing my breath. Continue reading