Residues of unsettled feelings rolled about in my heart and mind, just as I boarded the plane, making the last phone call to the one who has always been there for me when there is a friend in need. I thought of a few others whom I should say goodbye to and tried to SMS with the last bar of my tattered mobile.
It didn’t help with the male flight attendant of Korean Air breathing down my neck for not following taxi and take off procedure. I probably couldn’t tell if he was singing the national anthem or not. Either way, I managed to switch off the blasphemous device after seeing the reassuring ‘Message sent’.
As I sat through more than 23 hours worth of Korean entertainment, I couldn’t help but to wonder why these tadpole-eyed passengers didn’t have the sense of appreciation for the big blue skies of red fluffy clouds against postcard perfect nightfall and romantic sunrise. All of them ungrateful bastards lucky window seaters took care to keep the window covers shut, sans the rare curious traveller or two.
How often do you get to witness the rising and falling of the fiery orange and yellow, first hand, directly from the sky? How often do you get to see how night changes to day?
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How often do you get to see fields of clouds so white and condense that you feel like you’re flying above a sea of iceberg and snow, only to eventually see that it’s almost as if you’re flying above the watery world above,
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and when you see wipsy white cloud floating by the sun, it becomes beautiful smokey red dye?
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How often do you get to see how snow flakes creep up to decorate your window?
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Nobody deserves a window seat more than I do.
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Then again, Korean Air could have redeemed itself with that in-flight entertainment screen in front of my seat.
But only if it didn’t break down as often as Paris Hilton making the headlines for something groundbreaking.
