Bittersweet feeling at Istambul airport

I love airports. I feel it´s one of the few places in the world, maybe even The place in the world, that one can see the most diverse emotions. The anxious emigrant counting the seconds to see the family once again; the adventurous backpacker willing to explore the unknown world; the bored businessman going to that one work trip he was not truly willing to attend; romantic couples going to a trip together to celebrate love; excited friends going to a majestic trip somewhere in the tropics; loud kids and impatient parents spreading chaos while waiting for the airplane to take off; the distressed guy aiming to reach his destination as soon as possible due to a last-minute emergency. If you look around at an airport, there is a huge likelihood you will spot a few of these cases and many more… I am usually the adventure seeker with or without friends tagging along or the anxious kid about to visit family — so mostly showing my smile somewhere at the airport. But that one time was a bit different. A few years ago, I was in Bulgaria attending the wedding of a friend of mine. I was spending the weekend there — we had a great wedding celebration on Saturday, my first Bulgarian wedding to date, and on Sunday I was just exploring Sofia with another friend. That Sunday, I got a message from my sister after missing a few calls “Please pick up, please come home as soon as possible” (or something along these lines). I called her back and she tells me my dad was not doing so well. Avoiding going to much in detail regarding the last few weeks, we got to know that week that he had colon cancer. I tried to book the next available flight after taking a taxi with my friend back to the hotel. Once I arrived at the hotel, I found out that Sofia and Lisbon had the worst flight connections one can imagine in Europe. My fastest and the best option was to catch a flight to Istanbul, overnight at the airport, and get an early flight to Lisbon — and that is exactly what I did. Once I finally purchased the ticket, I got another call from home. My father didn´t survive. That flight wouldn´t be fast enough to see him alive. Any flight would be fast enough to see him breathing once again. It would only suffice to attend his funeral. This is how I became another type of people at airports: the, hopefully small, group of people broken inside after getting devastating news and waiting for the next flight to attend a funeral. And that group is definitely not a fun one. The first leg of the journey, from Sofia to Istanbul, I had another friend attending the wedding to give me companionship. The second leg from Istanbul to Lisbon, I had to do it by myself and wait alone for my flight the whole night. That night was one of the toughest I had and probably will ever experience. It honestly changed me forever but not only because of the horrendous news and the fact I had to deal with them by myself. But mostly because it was the place and the day I lost some faith in humanity. As you might imagine, I was not looking at my best after such news. A classic hurt human being, having mostly three faces to show: the basic crying face, the swollen face from crying, the red face from crying and the sparkly eyes from crying. If it was not clear, crying was probably involved 99% of the time. To stress a bit more the point that there is no way one wouldn´t notice my suffering, bear in mind my looks were exponentially deteriorating throughout the night while bouncing through the different four stages of crying. But the funny or not so funny point of the story is that everyone who crossed my way at the airport that night looked at me as someone would look perhaps at a polar bear in Zimbabue trapped inside a zoo cage. Not a single person came to talk to me, not even asking something as basic as “do you need a tissue” — yes mucus situation was not brilliant either. That day brought the sad realization that modern society is turning us more and more into heatless people. Helping someone in need seems extraordinary — unless it happens to make us feel better with ourselves it seems. Showing a kind heart is seen as a sign of vulnerability and weakness. Being selfish and individualistic seems nowadays’ rule. I hope I am wrong while thinking becoming more individualistic is the direction we, average society, will move towards in the future. But that day marks the day I lost the hope it can be another way. Yet I keep doing my part on fighting the trend — and I hope I am not alone…