War, inevitably, is everywhere. You come back from work (a warground where assholes call the shots, if not promoted, while the workaholics are fed as baits), turn on the TV. There you have it: Sandra Sully comes on Channel Ten’s News At 5, telling you Perth was invaded by Martians. And George has decided to fly millions of his army troops from the US of A in aid of his great pal Johnny. Before you know it, the war-friendly bin Laden was seen giving away packets of baby grenades and chocolate airplanes to Martians to take home as souvenir, in exchange for Perth.

And still, The Black Eyed Peas kept on bombarding us with the same rhetorical question again and again over the airwaves and soundwaves from our iPods: Where Is The Love?

Let me tell you: It’s all in the airport.

The airport is a place far away from civilisation. It’s seldom you hear that an airport is just a minute walk away from the City or a place remotely near the City, carefully shielding itself away from the hatreds of the City. You get all kind of mixed fuzzy feelings when you’re in there. It’s just like Vegas.

Like today, I was waiting on a friend at the Arrival Hall. She was late. I grabbed the nearest standing “Welcome Home” spot right in front of The Door - the window to firsthand entrée servings of wonderful selections of international babes from across the globe.

… And love.

One cannot help but pause to look at Hugs generously given away to family, friends and sometimes strangers (who noticeably seemed left out in the “Welcome Home” commotion) in an airport. The most heartwarming Hug Of The Moment was when a little kid ran over to his freshly-arrived Dad to give him a big hug, and a 10-second Frencher from his hot early-30s wife who’s been struggling to catch up with their kid from behind. If this was a scene from my movie, the surrounding crowd would awwwwwww in emotion, followed by a 20-minute of uneditted hot sex right on the floor; but with the kid around, that would be just be plain sick. But again, this is not a movie.

“LLLLLLAAAUUUUUUUUUUURRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!” I turned back to see a young-looking fella in his attempt to imitate the All Blacks’ Haka, shouting to his blonde mid-20s hot girlfriend, who just came through The Door. She blushed a little as she pulled her little travelbag towards her right to walk into the arms of her prince charming.

In the midst of all the love going on around, there still exist few but noticeable no-love moments. You don’t see it often in the airport, which makes it even more obvious. Like the dreaded debacle between in-laws: Wife’s-parents-from-Denmark-walked-out-from-The-Door-Wife-hugged-mum-and-dad-Man- ignored-mum-in-law-and-grabbed-bags-from-dad-in-law-and-continued-walking. A courtesy question was tossed in for free, “How was the flight?” but that’s about it.

Sidenote: My History teacher from High School once said that in-laws exist for only one reason: keep the kids while you’re at work. ’nuff said.

Occasionally you’ll be able to catch some disappointed faces coming out from The Door, hoping to catch a few Hugs from someone they know amidst the crowd. And a few frustration cases where Hugs were given to the people in front of them; blocking their way right at The Door exit. Nothing beats seeing someone receiving Hugs when you can’t have any AND then deliberately being forced to spectate a 10-second home video.

But hey it’s not always that bad.

So when you wanna escape from heartaches and sufferings of the world, make the airport your next stop. There’s one in the city near you.

Can anyone please ask The Peas to Shut Up now?