The Bird Who Went Astray

Beyond the dainty glass panels of the cockpit and all around the sparkling white tube of metal, at thirty thousand feet above the mighty Pacific Ocean: there’s an immaculate light-blue sky. Away from honking cars, chatter on the street, and the tiring daily routines. Up here, the sun shines a brilliant white, in absolute blissful silence. Hundreds of flying hours under my belt with the badge of silver wings pinned sternly to my navy-blue uniform, and I’m still not tired of this intoxicating sight. The pristine white clouds like brush strokes on a blank canvas, float below us, majestically concealing the heaven perhaps.

I wanted to be away from everything and everyone, and nothing in the whole wide world can match the peace which this endless serene sky fills my soul with. I was six when I first flew on an airplane, and after being scared for more than a half hour, I had finally mustered the courage to push up the beige shutter and look out the oval window when I saw something I fell in love with immediately. It was as if I had found purpose, a desire, and a goal all at once. As the large wing of the plane rose through the cotton-like clouds, and land was barely visible, I could do nothing but admire the beauty in awe. I guess I just never forgot about that feeling and there I was years later, holding a commercial flying license. I’ve only lived to take to the skies. Some say I’m missing out on life…