crying at airports

I have started crying at airports. 

A while ago, on an unassuming day, I was on escalator steps waving goodbye to my parents. I started sniffling. Unexpectedly. I had been excited to leave. But, that August morning, I think it hit me subconsciously. I'm leaving a part of myself behind. 

This continued every time I visited home. 

One summer, I was transitioning between countries. I was back home for two months. Something in the universe shifted. I felt loved; wanted. I felt connected to my friends. To my family. Was it because I was leaving, that they were showering me with so much affection? An old flame ignited. And I had to leave this all behind, to kill myself chasing a dream. 

On one random October day, I was waiting for my flight from Marseille Airport. The flight before mine was heading home. Departing that evening was a standard Ryanair aircraft with a small, inconspicuous red and white flag painted on the side of it. It felt strange to not board that flight. I kept following that flag until the plane itself became but a dot in the horizon. And, well, tears were streaming down my face. Again.

On a Friday, I cried at the airport in Luxembourg. My best friend moved away. She cried. I cried. I could barely see her through my tears as she queued for security. She kept waving until I turned the corner. We were out of sight from each other. She texted later: "I can't stop crying. I miss you." 

But I had been crying for a while. 

Often, I feel like my path here is running out of stones to tread on. 

I cannot remember the last time things felt normal. Or right. Or just fine. 

My mentor told me that I "will get past this". It's always the same mantra: "that one, she's a fighter". Although, what's the point of fighting a battle you've already lost? I was told that I cannot resign myself to the belief that the dream is over. I have "to hope that it will be fine". But hope is a grand thing of fiction. I said: "Even Napoleon couldn't conquer Russia". 

On a Saturday in Bunde, I was smoking outside with a friend. She took my hands in hers and said: "You have to stop running away." At the time, I was too stubborn to admit that she was right. I'm the girl who's always at an airport, a train station or a bus station. Always waiting to embark somewhere; perhaps, hoping for something better than this.

I became the very thing I thought I wouldn't become. 

I'll cry at another airport soon. 

I've yet to decide on which one.