I did not grow up with a conventional, romanticised ideal of beauty in landscape, such as lush golden fields and sparkling rivers. Rather, my encounters with beauty have been with the industrial, cemented elegance of my hometown, New York City. While Wordsworth wrote poetic odes to majestic views of nature, my paradise was the concrete streets of an ambitious jungle. I admired the aging architecture and was overjoyed to hear a symphony of traffic outside my window every night. Yet, despite the cultural, flawed beauty of the island of Manhattan, my most treasured place on earth is the airport arrivals gates.

It does seem strange at first to envisage any semblance of beauty amidst the linoleum and intercom announcements, yet to me, I have witnessed some of the most beautiful moments whilst standing at the metal barrier. My infatuation with this airport quadrant began when I first heard the smooth voice of Hugh Grant recite a monologue in my favourite film, “Love Actually.” This profound speech used simple language, yet the message possessed a complexity far beyond my ten year old philosophical capacity, “Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion’s starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don’t see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere.” Although at such a young age I failed to recognise the unique perception of these words, I diligently memorised every syllable. Eventually, as I grew older, the tender subtext of this monologue began to have an almost spiritual effect on me. I found myself beginning to question the unsteady moral foundations of our society, wondering why only the events of great violence and hatred illuminated television screens. However, these idealistic words slowly, but surely, eradicated this view for me.

I have had the fortune to travel all my life, and every time I used to fly, the only positive prospect awaiting me was arriving. The plane would no longer torture my mind with uncertain staggering, and I would feel the secure rumble of the machine’s wheels. I would feel an anxious rush of emotion as I passed through the automatic doors into a pit of darting heads and excited grins. Many times I wouldn’t have anyone waiting for me, as I was travelling with my family, but I couldn’t help but wonder if someone would exclaim my name or be furiously waving a “Welcome Home Kayle” sign. Although many of my early memories of the arrivals gates are quite misty, they would slowly trickle into my recollection as time went on. When my vibrant cousin at the ambitious age of 36 passed away three years ago, one of the first images that entered my mind was her contagious smile beaming at me in the arrivals gate at JFK airport in New York. No matter how faded and contorted my memory becomes, I will always remember her as the warm, spirited girl with outstretched arms amidst the throngs of people. That specific moment is one of the most beautiful memories I will ever possess.

My whole life, I had ignored the overwhelming and agonizing facts of September 11th, 2001. As my nearest and dearest friend has lived beside ground zero for eighteen years and due to my high frequency of visits to the neighbourhood, I couldn’t bare to know the horrifying realities. I finally faced the appalling images of business men descending, tumbling through the smoke-filled air to their tragic death. I listened to the countless, breathless phone calls of final confessions of love. My body heaved with sadness and empathy at each tale and image, and my mind drifted to the concept of arrivals gates. I imagined the eager faces awaiting their loved ones who embarked on those fateful four planes. For those who lost people so close to their heart, I couldn’t even imagine the hollowing sadness they must now feel glancing at the automatic doors of the arrivals gate, where their loved ones will never appear again. For a very long time, the arrivals gate then reminded me of that immeasurable loss and it took me a while to finally rediscover the genre of beauty the gates captured – the beauty of humanity. When I re-examined the worn-out words of Richard Curtis’ eloquently crafted monologue, I became fixated on one single aspect, “When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge – they were all messages of love.”

In these frantic, tragic final moments of the people on board these two planes, they were not consumed by hate towards those who inflicted pain on their lives. In fact, it seems no one even screamed obscenities about the terrorists administering this sick crime against humanity. In their final moments, the only concept that occupied their minds was love. I then began to appreciate the purest expression of love that occurred at the arrivals gates, and also began to see each person’s own capacity for love.

For this very reason, I embarked on a rather unusual journey this year. The day before Christmas Eve this year, I rejected the idea of mulling around shopping centres, which have become the unfortunate shrines of contemporary culture. Instead, I took the mundane bus journey to Dublin Airport by myself to experience sights to consolidate my faith in humanity. I spent the entire day at my paradise, my definition of the most beautiful place on earth – the arrivals gate at Terminal 2, Dublin Airport. I couldn’t have picked a country with more heart-warming reunions, as Ireland has been plagued with an influx of emigration. At first, I witnessed the usual touching moments of young girls being scooped up in their fathers’ arms, and the shrill screams of girls being reunited with their female relatives. A warm sensation was brewing within me, yet one particular incident brought stinging tears of compassion to my eyes.

Among the anticipation of idle chit-chat, I noticed an elderly couple shuffling cautiously within the crowd. They were draped in oversized, dark green coats and pants that swayed comfortably whilst they slowly moved. The woman wore a modest smile that created a ripple of wrinkles in her wise face, whilst clutching a brown bag in a tired hand. The man carefully guarded a large balloon with exploding splatters of green and yellow; something so vivacious creating a dissonant contrast to his timid nature. They finally reached the glowing screens that listed flight details, the woman dropping her brown bag with a soft thud. Her hands then flew into a fluid set of motions, creating gestures and symbols unknown to my ignorant mind. The husband agreed with her statement with a vigorous nod, followed by a panicked glance. It had seemed perhaps they had arrived too late, and had missed the thrill of seeing their loved one emerge from the sliding doors.

Then , as if an angel had begun its regal descent, their aging faces sparkled with a brief, fleeting youth. It appeared to be their son, staring bashfully at the tiled floor, whilst having a warm grip on his girlfriend’s hand. The elderly parents clambered to reach their son, with little co-ordination yet touching purpose. The woman’s weak limbs clutched her son with their limited strength, and the father provided a masculine pat on the shoulder. Once again, the complex sign language erupted, yet this time, between the trinity of compassion. The young woman attempted to follow the darting motions, yet her sapphire eyes could not maintain the translations. When the elated family began to walk towards the exit, I noticed the elderly woman was feverishly rubbing her eyes to wipe away the tears of joy. I tenderly placed a finger to my check, and felt my own stream of tears running down my skin. The beauty captured in that moment, in that location; required no words. The simple and profound message had counteracted any awful story I had heard that day of murder and corruption. Because amidst all that dissatisfaction was the most beautiful expression of love I have ever witnessed.

The role of the arrivals gate has constantly been changing in my life. As a child, it was a place for a loving embrace from a family member who I now ache for every day. As a teenager, it was a place where someone who I foolishly perceived as the love of my life awaited for my arrival. Now, as an adult, I can appreciate the personal meaning this timeless location has for me. As I live thousands of miles away from my treasured family members, I now associate the arrivals gates that I pass through to be a long anticipated reunion with their eager faces. And as I am a woman who eternally dreams of that perfect love, I also envision myself as an ambitious woman passing through those gates to see a faithful, loving man on one knee with a glittering engagement ring. Yet, wherever my life will take me, I will make the same pilgrimage each year to the arrivals gate. Because, no matter where I am in the world, love always speaks the same language.