Aeroplane
I hate flying. From it’s rancid plane food to it’s sarcastic, toothy air hostesses; sitting stationary in a cramped, air-tight environment, which is antithetically zooming through the clouds at hundreds of miles per hour. Screaming kids kicking your chair behind you, crying and squealing and farting, the scary flush in the toilet…
Today me and Nina had to sit at the exit. I read the little writing on the chair infront of me and realised that me and Nina would be responsible for opening it if anything was to happen. I thought of opening it and being sucked out. I thought of opening it and sliding down the massive slide and said to myself “I don’t think I’d like that very much, I feel the same way towards massive slides as I do towards rollercoasters; I am terrified, and I hate the feeling where my insides feel like they’re trying to escape my body”. I thought of the plane crashing down being like a very very big rollercoaster ride itself and felt a bit sick.
I get this abnormal, horrible pain when landing. Where the left side of my face goes painfully numb, my temples throb, my teeth ache, and one time, my forehead stung when I touched it. I can feel the blood pump through each and every artery in my left temple, each pump a shattering earthquake in my skull. It’s unbearable. I always expect my ears to start bleeding or something, clutching my head in my hands like I’m having some sort of seizure. I don’t want to cry, but I can’t help it. Grinding my teeth doesn’t help, but I do it anyway. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, ‘cause as I’m looking around the plane, tears in my eyes and my hand clutching my left ear, no one else seems to be affected. Even the children are giggling and the babies are mellow. It’s been about 4 hours since I landed from Portugal, and I still can’t hear out of my left ear.
However, looking out of a window and seeing a bunch of clouds below you is a sight you don’t see everyday. It’s surreal, like you’re flying over a cloudy kingdom. When I was little, I used to think flying through the clouds was the same as flying through heaven. I used to ask mum where the angels were, and sometimes even made myself believe that I saw a couple of angels dancing on a cloud in the distance. It’s amazing. I spent a lot of my flight there and back looking at the clouds, maybe even looking out for an angel or two.
You’d think after spending a week in Portugal I’d write a blog about that, right? But no, I’m sat here, writing about the journey instead. Sometimes I don’t understand myself. Portugal: Beach, tan, alcohol, Lady Gaga, too much food, “maow”, being followed home by a bunch of Portuguese men hanging about on the street after a night out… a very ordinary but lovely holiday.
Zoom.
