I am in an airplane. Its dormant body rests as passengers jibber about in anticipation. With subtle smiles, the crew stroll the passageways to check for open baggage shelves and undone seatbelts. Seatbelt-on signs turn on with a low beep. While I hurriedly turn off my cell phone, the plane starts to dash along the runway, and buildings race by in a frighteningly fast blur. At the point where going faster seems impossible, I notice that I’m in the air. I peer out the window. With the queasy feeling of rising to the sky, everything on land starts to drift apart. As I get higher, clouds pass by and the color of the sky darkens. Suddenly I become anxious. I’m torn away from all the things I have naturally become accustomed to. As the clouds start to slip under my window, I reminisce of things like the gentle purr of the family cat in the Philippines or the somehow calming smell of my Grandma’s freezer in Korea, even the maddeningly hot and humid air of Indonesia.
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