Someone smart once suggested a cure for depression. Simply go to the nearest airport and just stand for an hour at the international arrivals hall and observe the reunion of friends and families. You’d think the world is a happy place. So much love, so much happiness. Hugs and kisses, pure joy. One cannot remain indifferent, happiness guaranteed.
Granted, quite possibly, arrivals hall is the happiest place on earth. But usually one flight down, or up depending on the airport, you’d find sadness at its best. Hugs and kisses, tears and pain, promises and hope. Separations from loved ones are hard, even for short periods. Certainly for long ones.
Indeed, I’m writing this post at the airport, after experiencing one more ceremonious goodbye from my immediate family, Dorit, my wife, Guy and Shiri. We say our goodbyes, a tear forms in my eye, another in Dorit’s. Shiri looks worried, and Guy is being himself, messing with the laughing guards. Another kiss, another hug, and off I go and so do they. I turn around, and they are still there waving. We go our separate ways. I turn around one more time, and Guy is walking forward but looking back, waving, smiling. I stand there until they make the turn. I’m on my own.
I’ve been traveling for thirty years now, and it was never easy. There was a time that Shiri, when she was much younger, would cry every time she’d see a taxi driving up our road. She was sure that it came to take her dad away on one of his trips. I found that wherever I go, I leave someone behind. When I come back, I still leave someone behind. It could be family, it could be friends. As for me, I’m a special case. And this particular trip is even more special.
My family lives in three continents. My wife Dorit, Shiri, Guy and I live in Beijing, China. We’ve been living here for more than two years. My other daughters Karen and Tamara live with their mother in Teaneck, New Jersey, USA. My father, my mother, my sister and brother and all the nieces and nephews all live in Tel Aviv, Israel. Yes indeed, I’m a man of the world, at the same time I’m a nomad. A man with no country, with no home.
To make it simple, I declare my home to be where my wife and children are. The ones who live with me. That would make me Chinese. For others, who declare their homes by their hometown, place of birth, I would be an Israeli. For those who define home by citizenship, I am an American Israeli. If you choose to go as far as country of origin – that would make me Russian-Romanian-Spanish-Turkish.
No matter where I am, I always cherish the company of the people I’m with, and yet I always miss someone, I always yearn for someone who’s not around. Of course, you may say, grow up, this is life. To which I would say, as I grow up, the pain of separation and departure grows respectively.
Does it have to do with a horrible accident we’ve seen in Da-Tong a few weeks ago? Possibly. Does it have to do with difficulties transitioning to my new job? Again, very plausible. Maybe it’s because I’m traveling, on my own, to my hometown, to see my father ailing father? Likely. A combination of all of the above? Bingo.
So here I am at the amazing Beijing Capital Airport, spilling my guts to my Mac. New tear are forming in my eyes, but I decided not to let them come out this time. I live in a new world. I live thousands of miles from where I was born, thousands of miles more from where I raised two of my children. And I spend my life being one place, missing a couple of others.
But don’t get me wrong. I will never trade my life with those who choose to stay put. Those who only need to take a short walk or a short car ride to be with their loved ones. Those whose tears from for different reasons. I’ve seen a lot, learned a lot, I met people of all kinds, many countries. I’m never bored – for better for worse. I like my life. I only have this small wish. I wish I could have everyone I love travel with me everywhere I go. But then again, don’t they already? They have all been downloaded and burned into my heart, and everywhere I go, they do too.
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