title refers to airport sickness, as opposed to life-threatening cancer.
here is my first entry into burton, written at the first of many airports i visited on my journey.
airport terminals are odd places. every single one of these nameless strangers has an agenda, a reason for getting on their plane; be it a business trip, funeral, extramarital affair, etc. they are moving swiftly through the terminal with some kind of purpose.
but i’ll never know why they’re here. none of them are my concern. in all honesty, if i wasn’t sitting here forcing myself to be philosophical and reflective, it would never cross my mind to consider these people. i simply don’t care if they’re on time, excited for their journey, anxious about flying, or anything of the like. thousands of people, all with purpose and a place to be. i see them and they see me, but none of us will ever know or care about anything beyond our own schedule, boarding pass, departure gate.
such a lonely, self-serving place. ironic beginnings for the type of journey upon which i’m embarking.
