Airports are weird places. They are placeless places, for the most part, no matter who has been hired to decorate them in the style of the cities in which they exist. They posses a dislocating aura that intersects oddly with emotion, as if being in one is like looking through a sepia toned filter, except it isn’t light that’s being filtered but emotional tone. Sadness and loneliness are magnified. Happily reuniting couples and families scurry for the exits, as if aware that the place generally disapproves of their contentment.
I wonder if train stations felt the same way when they were the modus operandi. They seem so warm and beautiful in retrospect. Is that a function of nostalgic looking back, or something to do with the actual vehicles served? Are trains happier than airplanes in absolute terms?
I spent most of yesterday in airports (three) or airplanes (two). Jieun dropped me off at half past six in the morning. Whatever I’ve said about airports being dislocating and sad, the curb out front is ten times worse. It’ll be three months before I see her again, a fact that lives in the back of my heart like something spiny sharp.
This was my first time traveling in uniform, and I have to say that people give the military uniform a lot more deference than the priestly one. The airline comped my bags, both of which were overweight. The TSA guys shunted me into a special lane, where I had to remove neither the liquids from my bag nor the boots from my feet. I was called to board each plane first, before the first class passengers; on the first plane a gentleman who walked with two canes tried to make me go before him as well.
I’ve gotten used to saying “you’re welcome” when people thank me for my service. In my head I’m speaking for military folks who have actually served. It’s too long a conversation to explain to each person that I’ve barely served yet. All I’ve done is volunteer, and I’m not saying that’s nothing, but it is very little indeed compared to what many of the folks in uniform have given. I’m here to serve them more than to serve my country, though I’m glad certain members of the country appreciate it anyways.
This morning has been quiet, which is unusual for me as it’s Sunday. The room I’ll be staying in for the next ninety days was unavailable when I arrived on post at Fort Jackson last evening, so I spent the night at a local hotel. I forced myself to get up at six in the morning, even though that translates to three A.M. left coast time. Soon six will seem luxuriously late, and I figured I’d better get used to it. We report at one forty-five this afternoon.
Day one, here we come.
I wonder if train stations felt the same way when they were the modus operandi. They seem so warm and beautiful in retrospect. Is that a function of nostalgic looking back, or something to do with the actual vehicles served? Are trains happier than airplanes in absolute terms?
I spent most of yesterday in airports (three) or airplanes (two). Jieun dropped me off at half past six in the morning. Whatever I’ve said about airports being dislocating and sad, the curb out front is ten times worse. It’ll be three months before I see her again, a fact that lives in the back of my heart like something spiny sharp.
This was my first time traveling in uniform, and I have to say that people give the military uniform a lot more deference than the priestly one. The airline comped my bags, both of which were overweight. The TSA guys shunted me into a special lane, where I had to remove neither the liquids from my bag nor the boots from my feet. I was called to board each plane first, before the first class passengers; on the first plane a gentleman who walked with two canes tried to make me go before him as well.
I’ve gotten used to saying “you’re welcome” when people thank me for my service. In my head I’m speaking for military folks who have actually served. It’s too long a conversation to explain to each person that I’ve barely served yet. All I’ve done is volunteer, and I’m not saying that’s nothing, but it is very little indeed compared to what many of the folks in uniform have given. I’m here to serve them more than to serve my country, though I’m glad certain members of the country appreciate it anyways.
This morning has been quiet, which is unusual for me as it’s Sunday. The room I’ll be staying in for the next ninety days was unavailable when I arrived on post at Fort Jackson last evening, so I spent the night at a local hotel. I forced myself to get up at six in the morning, even though that translates to three A.M. left coast time. Soon six will seem luxuriously late, and I figured I’d better get used to it. We report at one forty-five this afternoon.
Day one, here we come.
RSS Feed