Just Justin

Listening to the soundtrack of remixed conversations around me, I can’t help but feel lost in the blur that is the airport.  I’ve been flying quite a bit in the last couple of years because I basically live in Boston, but go home to visit my parents and siblings.  It still amazes me that every time I come here, I don’t seem to recognize any faces.  It’s discomforting because perhaps, this situation I’m in is similar to the situation I’m experiencing in my life at the moment.

Routine is routine.  I go to the kiosk to check in and get my ticket.  With luggage hanging from my body, I walk, like a prisoner to chained to the ground by a heavy ball bearing, to the security check point, identification and boarding pass in hand.  “Hi!”  “Good evening.”  “Hello.”  The greetings are all so generic and mundane.  I pass the X-ray, and the TSA officer and I nod to each other signalling that we both aren’t a threat to the other.  I gather myself and and continue my journey to the waiting area until it’s time to board my flight.

Same path, but I feel like never the same people?  In a normal day in my life, I have the same situation - wake up, work, class, maybe eat, sleep, repeat.  I see people, but never the same ones.  The only ones that are around are those that need things from me: patients that want their meds, people who need help, those that sit next to me in class to be apart of their group. 

You can’t help but be reminded of how disaster is the only thing that bring us together.  9/11 is written every where in the airport.  My problems are attached to everyone I know.  There really is no escaping the human condition of misery.