I’m gonna be flying.
I’ve stopped trying to explain why airplanes feel like home. It doesn’t matter where I’m going, it doesn’t matter where I’m from.
The engines thrum, and then we’re on the straight-away and I can’t breathe. The wheels are rushing, I can feel them, and we’re all just waiting for that magic disconnect when you can’t feel the ground like a magnet beneath you anymore. And there it is. My stomach comes up into my chest and I exhale freedom - I’m falling forward; gravity falls away. Just as we crest, there’s another burst - a thrust pushes me up and away and holds my head back against the seat. The turbines continue to push and shove their way through the sky, until we settle into that gentle, sloping altitude.
I’m going to China, but my heart knows it’s going home. That’s what airplanes do: they take you home.
