I’m leaving on the first flight.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Trains, Planes, and Automobiles.”

No matter how much older I get, planes will forever be my favourite mode of transportation. But, as of now, my most memorable memory of a plane ride was back in 2011 when I had my first ever plane ride to a foreign land all by myself. I remember getting so excited about the prospect of travelling like a grown up, like a full functioning adult. Even as I know that I were to not meet my family and friends again in the next three months, I was still excited. Things took a downturn when I cross the immigration check point and as I look back, there were no more signs of who I once was; no family, no friends (safe for one friend who works in the airport and was accompanying me until my flight), just a sea of humans getting in a queue to cross the immigration checkpoint. I have never been more scared.

I tried to get my mind off the nagging feeling of wanting to run back out. I feel it at the back of my throat, the vile vomit that threatened to come out at any second if ever I try to speak of what I feel inside me. Thanks to my friend and his best efforts to calm me down, I was able to look like a decent human being before my flight. I was on the verge of my tears as the flight made its announcement for the passengers to start boarding the plane. It was not the thought of being hundreds of feet above the sea that scares me, there’s just something unknown on my destination and the feeling of leaving your loved ones behind; yes, I guess that was what scares me the most on that day.

I tried to walk with a purpose, I let out a small smile to the flight attendant who showed me my seat. I went to my designated seat, the one next to the window. Everything was a blur until I heard a ‘ding‘ and I saw that the seatbelt sign is turned on, and so I fasten my seat belt. The plane went to taxi and taking its spot to take off, and that is when I noticed the two empty seats next to me. 45 minutes into the flight, I decided to went to the lavatory and that is also when I noticed that the plane was almost empty, and more than ever, I felt incredibly sad. I feel like no one is there to celebrate my most awaited flight. I went back to my seat holding my tears.

I arrived in the airport, halfway though my journey as I have to transit for about 7 hours until my next flight. I was overcome with anxiety as I saw the big airport (it’s not even the biggest one I have ever seen) and I have no idea where I should go. I took my time to explore the airport since I have 7 hours to wait for my next flight anyway. Soon, I found my terminal and it was incredibly deserted as there were only two people there, including me. I sat on the corner most of the terminal, pulled out my phone and a text message chimes in, it was from my mother, and I was flooded with sadness again.

Everything went into another blur, the next thing I knew I had arrived in my destination. I struggled to carry my blue luggage out and I noticed the grey sky. I saw the two people that were to pick me up from the airport. They informed me that it has been raining the whole day. It was so dark and gloomy, as what I am feeling inside. I arrived at my destination and they showed me to my room, and in an instant all I ever want to do is to cry my heart out as I have been holding it since morning.


From then on forward, planes and airports have always been a complicated things for me; it used to be a symbol of a start of something new, of an adventure, and of excitement. Now, it is always sadness and holding back tears. But those feelings vanished as soon as the plane took off, those senses of going on an adventure, of something exciting waiting to happen on your destination, of a promise of something new; it all came rushing back and it reminded you again of how much you like being on a plane, being high up on the sky. I still hate the goodbyes and waving in the airports, but let the plane take its course to bring me back the fun that I used to have for plane since I was little kid.

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