Musing in Atlanta airport
Maybe, deep down, I’m afraid of my own luminosity. I spent the weekend in Atlanta. A brief 4-day trip, but I got out of it what I could, and I was with loved ones from Jhanae’s side of the family. Family always resets things. Being around people I love also reminds me of what genuine love feels like— to be loved as you are.
Being loved by people who have more than me reminds me of what unconditional love is. I tend to judge others by what they do for those who aren’t able to repay them.
I was inattentive enough to purchase a flight that leaves at 10:59 p.m. Fortunately, the airport traffic wasn’t extremely hectic, so I had enough quietude to write and people-watch while waiting.
Everyone was carelessly lost in their phones, like myself, except what I was doing felt important. We preoccupy ourselves through mundane moments. TSA agents were loud and active. Thankfully this all helps me write what I’m observing without looking suspicious.
Different places always remind me of the possibilities of myself. My personhood is stretched whenever I relocate. I also consider the number of people who have no idea who I am. I visited Havana Cigar Lounge in Sandy Springs on my own to get away while in the city. I grabbed a stick and a glass of crown peach with ice.
I stared around and introduced myself when within talking distance to people sitting near me at the bar. Two black women were sitting to my right, and a brown-skinned woman to my left was having a detailed conversation with someone on FaceTime. The lounge was dark-colored and atmospheric, but the room felt so subtle that open conversations blended well with the scenery. Everyone looked like what they spoke about.
I had a book to release, and the people here didn’t know it. A scary reality we are reminded of is that there are people who've never experienced us, and truthfully don’t care to know who we are. I finished the last corner of crown in my glass and walked outside to feel some of the breeze.
Outside, while waiting on my Uber, I sat near a clean-cut, middle-aged black man wearing a suit and tie with dark shades. He was holding a cigar while on the phone and seemed to be talking business. A business that was clearly out of my college senior tax bracket.
He glanced over at me twice, and once I made eye contact, he started a conversation, complimenting my beard, which was funny because he had the kind of beard I imagined having in the earlier stages of mine. I couldn’t remember what we spoke about, but I remembered his face, his large cigar, and his crisp suit.
This reminded me to peek my head from my shell more often, now. I felt comfortable knowing that after I left the cigar lounge, two more people in the world knew who I was. And that my beard looked nice that day.
Told By: Kwon
