On January 26th I moved to Phnom Penh, Cambodia to focus on photography and journalism in what may be an eventful two years for a country with a potential change election in 2018.
I’d been thinking about the move for most of last year and absentmindedly booked a one-way ticket late one evening in September. I wondered over the next couple of weeks whether I had made the right choice; I decided I had and realised for the second time in my life that sometimes you have to be a little rash to make big decisions.
With every move there is travel and, more often that not, airports. Some people are going somewhere, or returning; others are saying goodbye or welcoming; still others are working. They are focused, excited, daunted, tearful, worried, bored, tired, hopeful and lost, early, on time, late and killing time.
Some are running to catch a flight, frantically pushing luggage with eyes on the boards and ears on the tannoy. Others doze as if in a giant living room, oases of calm in a melee of movement.
Not many places have the potential of human purpose and emotion like an airport, and with my father’s words in my head I wonder where mine lay among the rest:
Tickets, money, passport – everything else will work itself out.