crying at airports

I cry at airports. A lot. 

This is only a recent development. 

It was 24th August 2023. I was on the escalator steps back home heading to departures. I waved goodbye to my parents. I started sniffling. Unexpectedly. The day before, I was excited to leave. I knew I was going to see my parents two days later - they were coming to Maastricht, too, to help me move. But, that August morning, I think it hit me subconsciously. I would probably not live there again or at least, any time soon. This trend continued for many months after. Christmas or Easter - the result was the same. Me: bawling my eyes out on the escalator steps at the airport back home. 

16th August 2024 was the last time I cried at the airport back home. I was home for two months that summer. It was a great summer. I felt loved; wanted. I felt connected to my friends. Was it because I was leaving, that they were showering me with so much affection? God, and the sex. It was brilliant sex, all summer long. I can't relive that. That summer was special to me. I was freshly single (out of an exhausting five year relationship) and ready to explore - ready to start living. And, there I was, crying at the airport again. My father was there, with me. It made it even worse. He insisted on helping me move to Luxembourg. He's always so awkward when I cry. 

On 1st October 2024, I was waiting for my flight to Luxembourg from Marseille Airport. The flight before mine was heading home. Departing Marseille that evening was a standard Ryanair aircraft with a small, inconspicuous white and red flag painted on the side of it. It felt strange not boarding that flight. I was on the phone with my friend. I had to hang up. I kept following that flag until the plane became but a dot in the horizon. And, well, tears were streaming down my face, yet again. 

Last Friday: I cried at the Luxembourg Airport. One of my best friends moved away. She went back to the Netherlands. I'm happy for her; that she followed her heart. Me? I'm a coward. I stayed here. She cried. I cried. I could barely see her through my tears as she queued for security. I kept waving until she turned the corner and I turned the corner. Out of sight from each other. She texted later: "I can't stop crying."

But I've been crying for quite a while, now. 

Have you ever felt that your life is going nowhere? My career is on hold because of some grave injustice or my own incompetence. I've yet to determine or decide which one it is. I can't remember the last time things felt normal. Or right. Or just "fine". I genuinely can't remember. My mentor told me that I "will get past this". I'll keep my job, she said, because I'm "a fighter". But, what's the point of fighting a battle you've already lost? She told me that I can't already draw a line and resign myself to the idea that it's over. I have "to hope that it will be fine". Hope. Hah, what a grand thing of fiction. 

Even Napoleon couldn't conquer Russia. 

Then, came the revelation. Someone recently told me that I keep running away: from Luxembourg, from my problems, from my life. I'm always at an airport, a train or bus station, lately. Waiting to embark somewhere; perhaps, waiting for something better than this. I became the very thing I thought I wouldn't become: one of those expats who are never in Luxembourg during the weekend. 

And, I know in my heart of hearts that I'll cry at another airport soon. 

I've yet to decide on which one.