Stray luggage

Travelling is this happy yet melancholic event; rainy walks to the bus-stop, waiting at cold train-stations, tearful good-byes at the airport. And then, the joyous arrivals, the warm welcomes, the comfort and the love.

Nonetheless, voyages in all their glory, they still have that one element of unavoidable impatience; waiting.

Checking in, you will always get in the 'wrong' line; the one which, as per chance, takes the most time. So, despite being sleep-deprived and in general having difficulties upholding your posture and perky disposition, there is still that moment of leaning gently on your suitcase, and at the same time observing all lines next to you move in express pace, while your's is seemingly advancing in slow motion.

Security, lets not even start; put your liquids in a bag, take your belt and jacket off, remove your laptop from your bag, take your shoes off (?), go throught the detector, get body searched if you are unlucky (three times if its not your day, none otherwise). The fun part comes after that; put everything on fast enough not to block the flow of people coming after you.

God, by the time you get to the tax free, you feel like you've come to paradise. Here there are two scenarios; one: you rush through the stores, and after 40 minutes you realise there is a final call for your gate. Two: you have ridiculous amounts of time to spend at the airport, and after your second tour of all the stores you start to feel slightly irritated that your gate hasn't even been announced yet.

Eventually on the plane, there are a few ways to go; none ideal, all possible. Either you fall asleep before the plane has even pulled out, or it feels like an eternity before it actually does. When you are going to your destination time can pass fairly quickly; it's exciting and thrilling and you can't wait to get there. However, going home is either a necessary evil or conversely; something you really desire (either way you are in for, what feels like a very long jurney).

Finally, the moment is there, when the cellphones start ringing again; halfway out of the aircraft and everyone is already on a par with your every step. But, not to forget is that little appendix, that you always bring along, your luggage, for which... you have to wait.

Without exception, you will see that strand of stray luggage; one bag which is shining new, not even a scratch to it, the trendy version of traveling, then another bag which you can understand someone might not want to claim; torn, old or other, it's one that doesn't look valid for travelling. A third one is the well travelled suitcase, the one with a few old stickers and some bumps and scratches (that looks like it has a life apart from it's owner). Occationally there is the odd large hard samsonite with one of those belts around, or that has been aggressively wrapped in plastic (that looks impossible to open). And sometimes, just sometimes, a part of a trolley or a toy rotates around and around, all the while some poor baby will be missing their means of transportation.

I am not the one waiting anymore, my silver titan slides up infront of me. Yet someone somewhere, is still waiting; stray people, lost from their luggage, stray luggage waiting for their owner. Someone will have to journey without their luggage, continue without their extention... and continue to wait while the stray find their way home... because they always do, no?.