It happened in
the Perth Airport at the wee hours of 2 January 2014. I remember the date as I
got an unexpected text from a guy I was seeing back in London (more about that
in another post).
Rookie
travelling mistake cost me my original flight from Melbourne to Perth on 1
January 2014. I was supposed to catch a flight at 15:55 so I went to the
airport 1 hour earlier just to read on the information board that my intended
flight had just departed. I curse the Australian time change. I ended up paying
extra AUD80 to get the next flight at 22:30. At that point in time, I just paid
without much fuss. It was my own blunder.
I arrived
at Perth Airport past midnight, hoping to catch the shuttle to the city.
Unfortunately, the first shuttle will only be operating at 6am or so. That’s
how I ended up spending the night at the airport.
I looked
around the sparse arrival hall, scanning for power source, desperate to charge
my electronics. It’s funny how my survival instinct focused on the effort to
recharge my phone and ipad instead of finding a safe place to set camp.
There were a set of power sockets near the exit of the arrival hall. I dragged a bench,
ready to be transformed into my make-shift bed, placing it right underneath the
sockets. I plugged in the charger and laid on the bench with my too-short
pashmina across my chest. The flimsy blow-up pillow stacked onto my dirty
rucksack filled with tshirts was perfect. I was so proud of my hobo self.
As time
passed by, I just accepted the fact that the airport lights were too harsh and
I am just too self-conscious to sleep in public. I covered my face with my thin pashmina, earphones on and tried to sleep to the retro sound of We Can’t Stop
cover by Postmodern Jukebox. I gave up eventually and decided reading would
be a good idea. Whilst engrossed in my now beaten-down copy of The Tiger’s
Wife, I noticed the crowd started to swell in front of the exit of the arrival
hall. I guess, a flight had just landed. I just laid there on the bench, watching one
by one passenger go through the exit with trolleys laden with huge luggage. Maybe
it was a long haul flight from somewhere far, far away. Some had their family
and friends waiting, some left by themselves.
He was about 6’0 with full head of curly hair, mildly good-looking face, dressed in white tshirt and khakis,
standing in the crowd with a bouquet of flowers. I remember the look on his
face vividly because I thought to myself “I want someone to wait for my return that
way”. His eyes were full of excitement and he had this boyish smile across his
face. Looking back, I might have stared too hard at him and could pass off as a
creepy hobo in the airport. I started the game “Who Is The Waiting Man Waiting
For?”, trying to guess who would run into The Waiting Man’s
arm.
More people
walked through the exit and the crowd thinned by the minute. The Waiting Man
kept extending his neck, trying to catch a glance into the arrival hall, wondering if his
significant other was going to appear anytime soon. 1 hour later, I have stopped playing the guessing game and started
to feel bad for The Waiting Man. Still, he had the same look plastered on
his face. Still patient, still excited, still hoping.
1.5 hours
later, he’s the only one standing in front of the exit. I could tell worry and
anxiety took the place of excitement and hope. He was holding the bouquet in one
hand, flopped towards the ground. His shoulders tense and his neck craned,
desperate to peer into the arrival hall. The airline crews exited the arrival
hall and I was crossing my fingers for The Walking Man harder than ever.
Just as I started to lose my faith to witness a sweet reunion, emerged an
exhausted young mother with a sleeping baby strapped in a carrier across her
chest, struggling to push a stroller in one hand and pulling a luggage with
another. The Waiting Man walked towards her immediately, while holding the
bouquet behind him. He looked like a deflated balloon 1 second ago and now someone had just pumped too much helium into it.
For a split second when their eyes met
across the room, I could see how much they have missed each other. The Waiting
Man presented The Young Mom with the bouquet and swear I could hear “ta-da!”.
She flashed the biggest smile, gave him a peck on the lips, a huge hug and The
Sleeping Baby was crushed between them. Kidding. Maybe mildly suffocated. The
Waiting Man finally let The Young Mom go (and saved The Sleeping Baby) after
what seemed like forever. He gave The Sleeping Baby a kiss on his/her forehead
and took over the baby from the exhausted mom. I heard The Young Mom uttered
the words “pooped”, “long queue” and “security check”. The Waiting Man listened
to her intently while they walked together towards the exit of the airport to ride their fabulous horse into the sunset.
