I dashed past an amassed horde of people, the strangers by the dozens, and quickly secured my baggage in a cart whilst carrying an armful of bags and goodies. A continuous hum of happy chatters, loud, boisterous yells and scandalous laughter filled the afternoon air. “They must be just as excited as I am.” I told myself in a chuckle.
I was eager for the trip that day. Long queuing lines didn’t bother me at all: the provocation to travel carried my legs when my youthful exuberance failed me. In the corner, I caught sight of an insipid child wandering about the place as though lost. He was gripping on a stuffed koala, his only blanket of solace. I was beginning to worry about him when relief dawned on me: a towering woman in her 40’s came rushing towards him, muttered vexed words, and took him, finally, lovingly by her arms. His eyes responded with an assured reliance that only a mother could spark. Her face was stern but her touch, forgiving.
The halls were polluted with a plethora of emotions, wretched and sordid an all its grandeur, I would love to get lost in such a place. The scent of brewed coffee wandered far from the nearby café; I welcome it in my system: a warm, gratifying comfort enough to last for hours on end.
The scene has entertained me quite well that I barely noticed how fast the line was moving: before I knew it, I had already checked in the earliest flight to Malaysia. I made my way to the gate indicated in my boarding pass where I found myself staring at random strangers for hours to pass the time away.
Then I saw them. At first glance, there was nothing beguiling, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that lured my interest towards them. However, the more I stared, the more I got beautifully lost.
She was taking self-satisfying selfies with him and kept on yanking him for another one as he kept his patience, unwearyingly giving in to each request, one after another. I must’ve been staring at them for too long a time that our eyes met as my consciousness was lost together with everything around me. I snapped. I looked away for a minute to avoid any other gauche contact-- distractingly haunting. Her incandescent eyes drew familiarity despite of the strangeness. Holy curiosity allowed me short, concealed glances at them, careful not to sting my eyes with each stolen look.
She was restless. She fidgeted with his hair and checked the time in the capsule of a second. He made up for this clumsiness, held her closely beside him, and they stood there-- stationary in time. This gesture, however, only permitted her to mask the emotions for a brief period of time until her eyes finally gave in. She embraced him with broken hopes, submitting every single fear to forgetting. This is the last time they’ll see each other before she pursuits her dream of studying at a top University in Stanford next semester and he has decided to let her do just that—even if it means departure.
Everything was a piercing motion; I loathed myself to just have stood there, and be a testament of how much people can love and risk themselves, vulnerable to pain. If this was how good pain looked like from a distance, I would miss the next flight to hurt myself a little longer, acquiescing to all these emotions.
I look at the walls of this place again, this time, with envious eyes-- for they have seen more stories than books can ever hope to write and what time spent here means to people in this place, only they can delineate. This is a story of how a scorching afternoon told me unspoken stories of sacrifices and elapsed memories of used-to-be’s in a place between worlds where the only factual ticket we have is our mustered courage of being able to let go.
by Mary Anne A. Fermano
I dashed past an amassed horde of people, the strangers by the dozens, and quickly secured my baggage in a cart whilst carrying an armful of bags and goodies. A continuous hum of happy chatters, loud, boisterous yells and scandalous laughter filled the afternoon air. “They must be just as excited as I am.” I told myself in a chuckle.
I was eager for the trip that day. Long queuing lines didn’t bother me at all: the provocation to travel carried my legs when my youthful exuberance failed me.
In the corner, I caught sight of an insipid child wandering about the place as though lost. He was gripping on a stuffed koala, his only blanket of solace. I was beginning to worry about him when relief dawned on me: a towering woman in her 40’s came rushing towards him, muttered vexed words, and took him, finally, lovingly by her arms. His eyes responded with an assured reliance that only a mother could spark. Her face was stern but her touch, forgiving.
The halls were polluted with a plethora of emotions, wretched and sordid an all its grandeur, I would love to get lost in such a place. The scent of brewed coffee wandered far from the nearby café; I welcome it in my system: a warm, gratifying comfort enough to last for hours on end.
The scene has entertained me quite well that I barely noticed how fast the line was moving: before I knew it, I had already checked in the earliest flight to Malaysia. I made my way to the gate indicated in my boarding pass where I found myself staring at random strangers for hours to pass the time away.
Then I saw them. At first glance, there was nothing beguiling, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that lured my interest towards them. However, the more I stared, the more I got beautifully lost.
She was taking self-satisfying selfies with him and kept on yanking him for another one as he kept his patience, unwearyingly giving in to each request, one after another. I must’ve been staring at them for too long a time that our eyes met as my consciousness was lost together with everything around me. I snapped.
I looked away for a minute to avoid any other gauche contact-- distractingly haunting. Her incandescent eyes drew familiarity despite of the strangeness. Holy curiosity allowed me short, concealed glances at them, careful not to sting my eyes with each stolen look.
She was restless. She fidgeted with his hair and checked the time in the capsule of a second. He made up for this clumsiness, held her closely beside him, and they stood there-- stationary in time. This gesture, however, only permitted her to mask the emotions for a brief period of time until her eyes finally gave in. She embraced him with broken hopes, submitting every single fear to forgetting. This is the last time they’ll see each other before she pursuits her dream of studying at a top University in Stanford next semester and he has decided to let her do just that—even if it means departure.
Everything was a piercing motion; I loathed myself to just have stood there, and be a testament of how much people can love and risk themselves, vulnerable to pain. If this was how good pain looked like from a distance, I would miss the next flight to hurt myself a little longer, acquiescing to all these emotions.
I look at the walls of this place again, this time, with envious eyes-- for they have seen more stories than books can ever hope to write and what time spent here means to people in this place, only they can delineate. This is a story of how a scorching afternoon told me unspoken stories of sacrifices and elapsed memories of used-to-be’s in a place between worlds where the only factual ticket we have is our mustered courage of being able to let go.