There are a lot of things I have never done on a plane. Going into the specifics of what I have in mind is probably not such a great idea. For instance, because I know the curious bunch, will be, well, curious, I have never written a blog post. And so, today, on this three hour flight from London Gatwick to Malta, instigated by the lack of better ideas, I find myself writing.
The truth is, there is something comfortably thrilling about being airborne, eleven thousand two hundred and seventy seven metres above ground to be exact. Piercing through the white, soft, cushiony clouds is rather extraordinary if you ask me. It makes you want to embrace the emergency exit signs, all the while having the very intelligent very strategic "I have to go. Peter Pan is waiting." excuse ready up your sleeve.
But no, being interrupted by a bald headed steward giving you an undecipherable lunch that almost resembles prison food, is good too, especially when accompanied by the loud thoughts of a local middle aged woman who seems to be overenthusiastic about the fact that she can digest processed food even at this altitude. Unfortunately, Peter Pan is going to have to wait.
Yes, going back home, whether it's planned, or whether it's unexpected, like today, is always emotional. A difference as big as the Mediterranean Sea, separates the act of doing something because you want to as opposed to doing something because you feel the need to. Sometimes, there's a fine line. In this case, there isn't.
But now, as the plane approaches it's final destination, as the mixed emotions start to escalate (maybe accelerated by this sudden urge to use the loo), and just as the first track off the third consecutive album plays through the newly purchased headphones, reality sets in. Breathe.
This time, it's not about you. This time, it's about them.
(written on Thursday, December 01, 2011)
(written on Thursday, December 01, 2011)