Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Flight of Fancy

June 28, 9:45 PM. I was flying to Kish on board a Fokker 50 plane, one of the rare planes whose sight should remind us that traveling by air should be an option to spare once in a while. I was flying to Kish for one last time, not to wait for something unsure, but to bid goodbye to the island that has sheltered my broken and built OFW dreams for so many occasions. We were flying to Kish, from my window seat, there was nothing to behold outside of the thick rectangular fiber glass. There was total darkness. Down below was the waters of the Persian Gulf. It was a starless night, not even some humpy clouds to shake a little fear among the seated souls. The only thing that seemed to accompany our forty five minute journey was the quarter faced pale moon whose countenance resembled that of an angel's lips smiling like an eternal Mona Lisa.

I was flying to Kish, at 40,000 feet in the sky, my thoughts were never out of my grasp. I was flying and I was enjoying every single moment of it, like a little child having his first airplane experience in an airplane this big. I have traveled to Kish three times before, all for luck and gamble. During all those flights, I never really got to sit and just sit worriless and fine. Now it's different. In less than 24 hours, I knew I'll be taking this same plane back to Dubai, letting my used to be restless thought with almost nothing to think about. The torment and agony that used to fly with me has flown away to the past and now I am flying to the future armed with all the memories that I have banked and all the lessons that I have learned.

I was flying and having nothing to view outside; I focused my fascination on how this little piece of metal was able to lift itself together with 50 other people into the sky only with a pair of wooden like propellers. Airplanes, for your information, in one of the few things that fuel my astonishment and enthusiasm. I remember, when I was little and whenever I had a chance to go to the airport to fetch some homecoming relatives, I would always marvel at the sight of parked planes at the airport and those touching down and taking off. That’s probably what made me believe that nothing in this world is impossible, that even the heaviest thing could fly, that a dream of whatever kind could still soar when you believe in it.

Our forty five minute journey was far less from luxury. The flight was two hours delayed. The plane itself was scary and smelly. The snacks consisted of an orange juice in tetra, orange bread and salted peanuts. But these were not the things that mattered most. These were petty things for a short journey. In all of my previous travel to Kish, all the time that I was on the plane, I was more consumed with the thought of how to spend my time once the plane touched down and not having any certainty as to when I would be back. Now that I wouldn’t have to go through that ordeal, I was flying for the fun of it. Never mind the plane, never mind the view, never mind the snacks, I was flying with my dreams that have kept submerged for so long.


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