I really really wish I was born in the air. In a hot air balloon, a plane, I don’t even mind a rocket. As long as I arrived into this world flying in the air. I know for a fact that my mother hates me for this wish because I have proposed this idea to her on many occasions only to be met with a very dirty ‘give-birth-and-then-we-shall-see-how-happy-you-are’ look.
A very very long time ago, when I was a child, I hatched a plan. An evil one I must admit, it involved me smuggling a pregnant woman on board an aircraft and fly her till she gives birth. In my defence, I wasn’t aware of the fact that planes need fuel to fly. I thought it was pure magic.
What deterred me from this plan which would have definitely led to my untimely murder by that unfortunate pregnant lady was a chat I had with my uncle who is an aviator. He managed to convince me that it wouldn’t work as I probably wouldn’t be able to fly a plane all alone, he promised to fly a plane with me as soon as I’m 17 and carry out my ‘genius plan’. (He kept his promise, minus the pregnant lady)
It was absolute magic, I’ve never felt more alive than when I flew (I didn’t actually do much ‘flying’, more on the oooh and aaah-ing) that tiny thing that my uncle insisted was a plane. It was wicked fun. I wasn’t convinced so I made my cousin fly that thing with me and it turns out that it was indeed an aircraft.
This doesn’t do justice to explain my fascination with planes and flying, which means it’s just mindless blabbering.
Soon to be in the air,