Pacing quick steps towards the sliding doors of YVR airport which sit anchored in Richmond B.C., I am flooded with memories of all the times I've stepped foot in here. Pretending I can recall the first time I arrived in Canada with my family at the age of four. The many times I waved off tearful goodbyes to my father. The routine-feels of family trips where you don't know or care where you're going. The first time I flew to New York City with sparkle in my eyes. The time I was 16 and went to L.A. by myself. Summer dance intensives, my first semester of college, the many breaks from college. My first time going to Europe; my first time coming back from months-long spent backpacking Southeast Asia.
No matter who I am upon arrival, I am always met with a vibrant rush from my fellow commuters. Rush from the swarm of people around me, all off to go somewhere with their own stories, and their own tears of heartbreak and happiness. Surrounded by dulling waiting feelings, heads rested on hands, crying babies, and all else unknown. People of the world arriving and departing. Roller bags rolling every direction. Jaded security guards. Happy security guards. One litre bags of liquids. Beep beep beeps beeping.
Thinking of the millions of people around the world boarding aircrafts right now, taking bodies from one piece of land to another. Lives being taken to intersect with other lives. Connections growing exponentially.