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I never liked airports. They’re loud, crowded, and overall an unpleasant experience. You have to send off your belongings into a black void, after waiting around half an hour. Next, you have to make a dash for the TSA, where all of your stuff is seized and searched. Then they make you walk through giant machinery, where they, once again, search your body for things they deem “a threat to the balance.” If you set the alarms off once more, a worker has to perform another invasive search on you, before you’re dismissed to the second stage, which is a race against time to repack your things and sprint to your terminal before your flight takes off without you. Once you’re there, you wait before you’re herded into a metal contraption that flies you to your destination, providing you with mediocre views and mediocre entertainment, accompanied with mediocre snacks. Once you finally land, it’s another race against time to get your stuff and leave a place full of agony.
I never liked airports. I never got the appeal of airplanes. Until two nights ago, I still haven’t recovered from this feeling.
It was a relatively normal airport experience for the most part. There were the usual procedures and the usual feeling that I was going to explode every time I went to one. We had to pass through international customs, since we were going to the USA, which made the explosion imminent. I quickly ran to the bathroom to explode in peace, before running back because we’ve been cleared to go through the gates. To my dismay, we had to go through the hellscape, known as the TSA, once more, and the need to explode came back, to which I let out in a trashcan. My mom scolded me before we went to the (hopefully) final checkpoint. It was the usual routine, so I wasn’t reactive to the machines and the race to pack our stuff. After we passed the checks, my mom, my stepdad and I all grabbed our things and rushed to our gate. We all got on the plane and sat down, listening to the Captain’s usual spiel about flying safety. After this, we finally took off.
It was five minutes into the flight when I realized why airports are the way they are–why they’re so loud and noisy and rough. It’s because they’re guarding something so sacred, so beautiful. They’re there to keep dangers out of this… whole other dimension.
When I looked out the window, I was greeted with a sight unlike any other. Layers upon layers of sun-kissed fluffy clouds called my name, and the only reason I didn’t rest on one was because I was trapped in an airplane. The clouds kept going, but each one was so beautiful from above, that I didn’t mind. When we reached the point where the pilot decided we were high enough in the air, the plane was still entirely surrounded by this unreachable paradise. It looked directly out of a painting; the clouds above, below, and around our plane were coated in a heavenly glow from the setting sun. I turned to my mom, who was watching a movie, and I was surprised at the fact that she wasn’t drinking in the sight as much as I was. I looked at my stepdad, who was fast asleep in his chair. I looked around at the others and realized that nobody was marveling at the sight just outside their window. I stared at my reflection on the seat monitor, before shrugging and going back to staring out the window. Everyone’s indifference to this wondrous sight wasn’t going to stop me from enjoying it’s beauty.
I stared at the sight until the heavenly clouds faded into a seemingly endless black void. What was once so beautiful turned into the terrifying unknown within minutes.
As I stared outside, I questioned if this plane was actually in existence. I questioned if anything was in existence, or if we’re still actually in the same dimension we were in 5 minutes ago. The emptiness of our surroundings freaked me out, and the intense feelings of fear manifested itself in my stomach. I quickly grabbed my book and tried to immerse myself into the story to distract myself from the dread.
I must’ve read for hours, because the only thing that snapped me out of the book was the captain announcing that we’d be landing soon. I put my book away and glanced outside, hoping for the best. My eyes widened as I took in the sight. Below us was the mark of civilization; thousands of lights twinkling back at us as if they were stars in the sky. I never realized how small we were compared to the expansive landscapes of cities. When you put it into perspective, we’re nothing but ants next to skyscrapers. It’s crazy how millions of stories were being actively lived while we were flying above them. It was as if I could see every story in the county, from the beginnings of new lives or the deaths of old ones. As we got closer to the airport, I began to realize that I, too, was going to fade into the millions of skylines I saw 30 minutes ago. I accepted the fact that there was nothing I could do, so I took hold of every moment I could in that dimension while the buildings got larger and larger.
I was unwillingly dragged back into reality when the airplane made contact with the runway. In that moment, I knew that I was finally back into the realm I was used to. As much as I wished my visit to this strange, unknown dimension would last longer, I knew I had to leave; this was the end of my scheduled visit. I sighed, grabbed my belongings, and crossed the threshold that separated the sky from the land, bracing myself to live in the present once more.
Edited by Jacob Escobar
Cover page by Jiaying Cheng
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