The concept of waiting has always seemed like an unusual paradox to me. In one place, waiting for someone is a kind and romantic gesture, while on the other, waiting when time and life doesn’t is dismissed as passive.

I wrote this while standing in a two hour queue at the airport, inspired by the writing style of Jodi Picoult.

So here goes:

Waiting. We wait to meet people- for autographs from our favourite celebrities, book signings, appointments with clients. We wait for assistance, an appointment with a doctor, lawyer or a broker. We wait to travel- the groggy faces and sleepy eyes in the queues at airports and train stations. We wait to know- the results of a test, the outcome of the Sunday football game, the drama play’s casting list. We wait to reunite, with friends and family we’ve daydreamed to see again. We wait for time to heal our wounds, for memories to fade and the flesh to reappear in the cuts from the losses of our loved ones. We wait to meet someone- for the boy next door to ask us to the dance or for a simple request on an online dating site. We wait for approval – a simple smile and nod as a symbol of reassurance. We wait to forget bad times and we wait to reconcile- for the apology we never expected to come and for friendships to mend again. We wait out storms, snow and rain. We wait for moments, like a pastry chef removing a soufflé from an oven at a precise moment, the 8 seconds for a bull rider to breathe a sigh of relief, the moment we get butterflies in our stomach. We wait for change and to revert changes- for everything to go back to how it was again. We wait for our wishes and wildest dreams to come true. Most of all, we wait to be understood, adored and loved.