Transatlantic flights


Big planes, hundreds of strangers, smelly feet, over-microwaved food, swelling senses, turbulence, day, dark, light, day, night or was it night, day?

Long flights do that to you – they disorient you, mess with your biological clock and tick off your patience for Hollywood films. You end up crushing in a foreign hotel room, sometimes you ll reach out to the bedside table and your knuckles will hit the wall. Where did my bedside table go?

It’s still at home my friend. Like most of your clothes, your parents’ love and your favourite coffee shop. Wake up, brush up, and go get from this new city what you can’t get at home. That’s the attitude. That’s macho enough for you – mid twenties, good career prospects. Good complacency levels lined up for the future.

So it’s expected that a little turbulence will shake things up in your life. During this trip across the pond, you found me. You found hope. But a caged hope, not the free spirited hope that you think you are attracted to.

You see, I personally think that I’m just a little mouse that has found a friendly hole to rest. I’m only brave enough to peek out of the hole and dream of what I could be. Stepping outside my mousey hole will be my dream come true, and I’m very close to achieving it. My dream gives me hope, that one day I will explore myself in another world – and I won’t do that by hopping on a plane for a long trip. My dream is hope, a twinkle of excitement that runs down my spine, whenever I peek outside my hole.

And for you that shrill of excitement is me. And I can’t be that. Because my dreams are bigger.


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