I went to the airport today to pick up my boyfriend. I was excited, of course.
But truth to be told, the airport often makes me nervous.
There is something uneasy about travellers hurrying around in big suitcases. “Will they make it in time? Do they forget anything? Will the wind be kind and gentle when their plane takes off?”
All around Schipol, the lights from high-end shops feels too commercially fake. The announcement prompting passengers to stick to official taxis reminds me of unpleasant memories being tricked in a foreign country.
Then there is almost always a wait in front of arrival gate when my heart jumps each time the double door slides open and slumps when the people appearing aren’t my loved one. It’s always worth the wait and the journey but somewhere down the line I wish it could have been easier.