I've read "Nowhere Man" by Pico Lyer in my English class.
I am turing into what he calls of Transit Loungers. So many hours having spent time at airports, waiting. Us, the transcontinental tribe of wanderers, forever heading to the departure gate. Most of the Transit Loungers pass through countries as though revolving doors, resident aliens of the world, impermanent residents of nowhere. A new nationality of nowadays. Nothing is seemed strange, and nowhere is too foreign. We are visitors even in our own homes.
This kind of life offers an unprecedented sense of freedom and mobility: tied down nowhere, we can pick and choose among locations. Becoming of proffesional observers, seasoned experts at dispassion, we are less good at involvement, or suspension of disbelief...
We are no exile nor refugee...
How do tranit loungers feel? What are the issues that we would die for? What are the passions that we sould live for?
Airports are among the only sites in public life where emotions are hugely sanctioned. We see people weep, shout, kiss in airports; we see them at the furthest edges of excitement and exhaustion. Airports are privileged spaces where we can see the primal states writ large - fear, recognition, hope. Seeing both feelings for something that is left behind and something that is going to be discovered...
Posted by masha at October 19, 2003 3:34 PM