This post was submitted by Kareem

European cities are known for their romantic nature. Some say it’s the history steeped in culture, the food, or the diversity of languages. Many travel to Europe to seek out passion, whether that is an evening stroll along the Thames in London, a smooth espresso in a café or restaurant in downtown Paris, or a fine German beer in a pub with a date in Berlin. At its very core, Europe exudes a unique kind of love and beauty, and these are some of the draws that inspire many foreigners to seek out the sophisticated capitals of Europe for their honeymoons, vacations, and escapes from the monotony of life back home.

But as I write this, thousands of feet above this region of romance, this continent of intimate compassion, I find myself in a very different world. Thousands of feet above the star-crossed lovers having their first kiss in front of the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris and miles away from the sweet whispers of young love wafting from a Viennese wine bar, I am trying to drown out the couple behind me. With the roar of the plane’s engines reminding me of my impending journey across the Atlantic, I can’t seem to escape the consistent argument that has plagued two of my fellow passengers, an assumed married couple, since we departed European soil two hours ago.

It all started with the gate being too crowded. Austrian Airlines had overbooked their morning flight from Vienna to Washington and the waiting area at the terminal was a buzzing overcrowded hive. Whole families sat cross-legged on the trampled carpet waiting to board at the earliest convenience. Unfortunately, my flight is made up of mostly middle-aged to older couples, many returning from group tours. They yell to each other, shouting across the terminal, complaining about this, commenting on that. “Hey Cheryl. CHER-YL!” one balding American man belts from his seat near the ticket counter. “Look at this!” He gesticulates wildly, waving his hand in a broad arc to encompass the room. “Ridiculous! What were these Austrians thinking? Good job booking this flight!” Cheryl, overweight and lounging in her tracksuit with thick make up, clutched her passport purse and scowled. Behind them, I check to see if anyone is reacting to this embarrassing excuse for diplomats, a role everyone takes on when leaving their home country, a philosophy in which I firmly believe. The airline staff is too busy dealing with other impatient and complaining passengers. I roll my eyes on their behalf.  Shortly thereafter we board the plane and to my chagrin, Cheryl and her assumed husband sit behind us. We take off and the two instantly return to their bickering.

Two hours into the flight, the couple has poked and prodded at each other to no end. Cheryl’s seat isn’t reclined enough. Cheryl’s husband’s television screen isn’t working properly. Cheryl doesn’t want to watch the stupid new Terminator movie being shown. Cheryl’s husband’s beer doesn’t taste right. I am close to turning around and terminating their marriage: a citizen’s divorce. Cheryl flags down the flight attendant and needs another coke, please. “Danke shon,” she projects her horrific German skills above and across the seats. I am reminded of a conversation I had with a close friend before my trip. As we walked home from a party, she reflected on our mutual friends and resigned herself to the idea that she could see some of them getting married and settling down “just to do it.” She said that she could see many of them settling down in a decade or so, just so that they could.  Marrying just because nothing else was going for them. While I kept silent during most of the conversation, careful not to mention anything that might offend my friend, I couldn’t help but recoil at the thought. What’s the point of settling down if not for love?

Cheryl and her husband seem to be trying their best to cement my view. While it is not my place to question their feelings or history together (it is quite possible both of them are actually in love and enjoy their constant bickering),  I can’t help but notice the couple’s intensely negative body language. I really can’t help but wonder: Are they seriously in love? Did they get married and settle down “just to do it?” More importantly, for how many people is this scenario the case? Does society’s pressure concerning marriage have something to do with this phenomenon, and if so, what fate does this spell for those gay couples for whom marriage is now an option?

I reach desperately for my headphones and close my eyes. Cheryl is going on and on about something or other. Her husband just can’t get comfortable, his “damn seat won’t recline enough.” I feel for the poor soul bearing the brunt of his adjustments and the flight attendant who is constantly being called upon by Cheryl. I turn up the volume of my music player as Andrew W.K.’s “Long Live the Party” blocks out the maddening couple. The guitar and singer’s shouts drown out the Terminator movie, the plane engines, and Europe below.

For some, those married and settled, some might say that the party might be over. But for me, being single means soaring at an incredible speed across the blue oceanic expanse below. For me the party has just started.

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