SMF ⇌ FCO

“Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion’s starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don’t see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it’s not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it’s always there – fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends... If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaky feeling love, actually … is all around.” -Love Actually

I have grown up to have a love-hate relationship with airports. I'd say about 90% of our airport related trips growing up were to go to Italy -- that is, to go 'home'. Most of our relatives lived on the other side of the pond and almost every summer we'd make the long trek to see them.

I remember when I was very small, leaving for Italy was exciting: we would pack our luggage with jelly beans, peanut butter, and Oreos to bring to Italy, ready our little backpacks with our summer school work and precious stuffed animals, and pack our violins. But, the excitement of the trip was only ever felt one-way.

But, the excitement of the trip was only ever felt one-way.

The arrivals gate at FCO (Fiumicino Airport) was almost always the best part of our trip: waiting just past customs were the people's whose hugs we missed the most. I remember feeling butterflies in my stomach as we walked through customs. The excitement was sometimes so strong I'd get hives (if you spend enough time with me, you know what I'm talking about).

As the sliding doors opened, I would scan the crowd of people looking for familiar faces, my familiar faces. Everyone around us would always seem to reunite with their loved ones first, and I couldn't help but feel a bit jealous. That feeling lasted seconds because a glimpse of purple, red, blue, or green was enough to spot our uncle in the crowd (he's color blind, poor guy, but loves his colors). Caution was thrown to the wind, backpacks were flung every which way, and the biggest, longest hugs were exchanged.

The return trip was always much worse. I remember that when we were quite small, we somehow always booked these return trips that left at 6 or 7 am. We'd have a 4 am alarm, and our entire family would gather in front yard in pajamas to say goodbye. We would exchange a last laugh and hug, and then our uncles would help mom and dad load our pasta-filled luggages in the car. Then it was time to say goodbye. Everyone would cry. Every year, the distance between the USA and Italy would feel a bit bigger, and I would cry too.

I dreaded the car ride from Lariano to the Fiumicino Airport. Chiara and I would count the number of cities we passed as we drove through them to pass the time. Lariano, Velletri, Genzano, Ariccia, Albano, Ciampino, ... and finally Rome. We would park the cars in front of the Terminal and all rush in with the luggages to check in. Then, right there in front of the security check point we would again hug and kiss goodbye, and of course cry. And there we were, openly weeping at the security check point of T1 at FCO, while the guards and airline workers starred. But we didn't care. We knew the hard truth: we wouldn't hug the people we loved the most for a year.

And there we were, openly weeping at the security check point of T1 at FCO, while the guards and airline workers starred.

As a kid, I never understood 'distance' or 'time zones'. But as I got a bit older and a bit attached to my home-away-from-home, the distance was more tangible, and time zones were brutal. With every passing year, I felt every arrival and departure with more emotion. Airports caused a twinge in my chest and knots in my stomach because I associated them with a sense of dread. Loving people on the other side of the world was hard.

Then I moved to Italy -- exciting right? Joke was on me 'cause I was about to see a lot of airports for the next 6 years. Over the past three years, this move has challenged by idea of 'home' and 'identity' (this needs a whole post of its own haha), and has forced me to get used to 'goodbyes'.

Home is not necessarily a place. Home is where your people are, and you can have more than one 'home'. Everyone has heard a version of this, but I think we sometimes take it for granted. Now that I've had to 'build my home' here at school, I've realized how valuable it is. I'm lucky I feel at home in two places because I'm always surrounded by my people -- people who I love and who love me. This love make the distance worth traveling. Now, excitement books a round-trip ticket with me, and I feel it as I leave for SMF and as I return to FCO.

This love makes the distance worth traveling.

I've decided to reframe my goodbyes as 'arrivederci's (until we see each other again) mostly for my own emotional wellbeing. That being said, I know that a goodbye that 'hurts' is usually one associated with so much love. In fact, I've learned over the years that a dreaded goodbye just makes the next reunion that much sweeter. Have you ever seen Love Actually? If you have, you'll recall the opening and closing scenes of the film take place in an airport. In the beginning of the film, the narrator observes the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport and tells the viewer that there in that place, if you look closely enough you'll find that love is all around. He's right. I'm lucky that regardless of whether I step off a plane at SMF or at FCO, I have someone I love who is waiting to hug me, and who I can't wait to hug back (you know who you are).

And there's no greater feeling.

It's love.