Another dawn spent in the air, the who knows how manyeth one in recent months. There’s something magical about watching the sky dim. Not completely, for there seems always to be a sliver of orange on the furthest horizon, against the defined silhouette of the wing and flashing light at the tip of it.
A thought dawned on me as I’m following the plane across the Atlantic. This must have been my fifth time crossing the ocean. With such ease, with such speed. For me it seems to be the easiest thing to be boarding a plane and to just take off. Even the passport check person at the person was surprised when she saw the number of luggage stubs I had attached to the last pages of my passport.
Perhaps that is a blessing in itself, for I enjoy the privilege that most around the world can dream of: having homes around the world, and being able to come and go, but most of all, being able to stay in a place and not be like I’m a complete stranger. Feeling foreign and estranged is another matter altogether compared to being able to arrive at a city, a place and quickly get accustomed to the life and means of moving around at a place.
It never ceases to amaze me, how far I have come, and how far I can go. Onward to Canada. Another flight, another journey. The world feels so small. Or perhaps I’m just too active?
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