So this is what you're going to do

Airports are peculiar places, these giant havens of people in transit, coming and going, assembled in eclectic groups that you wouldn’t find in any other circumstance; accompanied by luggage, trolleys, surfboards, wheelchairs, prams, toddlers, grandmothers. Though everyone is there for the same fundamental purpose (board a plane, flip through a magazine in a bored fashion, pay ridiculous amounts for cardboard-tasting aeroplane food, sleep in a grossly uncomfortable position whilst trying not to dribble on the person sitting next to you, disembark feeling groggy and covered in travel grime, eager to reach your actual destination outside the airport) nobody’s journey is the same. This bizarre hub of transport is the only time two people from opposite sides of the world may walk across the same tiled floor, passport in hand, clutching a ticket for a holiday, year-long adventure, new life, new start.

Open, raw emotion is something one would expect to find frequently in such a place where hellos and goodbyes are said at every waking minute of the day - people with torrents of tears gushing down their faces; happy tears, sad tears, exhausted, frustrated, angry tears. People shaking with quakes of laughter; relieved laughter, amused laughter, laugh-so-you-don’t-cry laughter. Though this might be the common belief (that stark emotion is more easily stumbled upon than a freshly made sandwich), more careful reflection reveals that this may just be as a result of watching Love Actually too many times and being slightly overwhelmed by the shiny-eyed credits that roll at the start of the film, showing people flying into different forms of embrace as they pour into Arrivals at Heathrow Airport. After spending 45 minutes in a queue in Charles De Gaulle airport, surrounded by utterly composed people looking with concern and fear at the girl blubbering harder than an angry whale, it could be said that airports are not quite as full of unbridled displays of emotion as first expected.

As in any situation where peoples’ usual routines are disrupted, it’s always entertaining to observe the means some will go to in order to preserve some kind of semblance of normality. Most commonly stumbled upon are the families with younger children who will gather around one communal suitcase (a makeshift table) and eat a breakfast consisting of three-day old muffins, juice and dubious looking fruit, balancing their meals on serviettes and making idle conversation even though their eyes are jumping out of their heads with exhaustion and announcements are blaring from the loudspeakers. Others include those who want a good night’s sleep and won’t let anything or anyone stop them – I’ve always envied those who can curl up on a row of seats with a blanket, pillow and eye mask and enjoy a deep slumber for the eight hours before their flight, unphased by the possibility of someone stealing all of their possessions or drawing something in permanent texta on their face.

Airports seem a permanent fixture within the means of travel now; the huge, dry and dusty island that is Australia has ensured plane trips are virtually inevitable for most who live here. So for the eons to come, we’ll still shove our belongings into suitcases (cursing the 23 kilogram limit per person) waste time at boarding gates, stare blankly at the air hostesses performing the safety proceedings, watch the city lights disappear beneath a blanket of cloud, pass minutes, hours, days with magazines and crossword puzzles, watch movies that fail to distract you from your furiously-protesting body clock, itchy eyes and cramped legs, wait in queues at Customs, at baggage terminals, all to walk through the automatic doors into a crowd of expectant people, only to see the person waiting to the side for you, to welcome you to this home, for now, here.