After some punishing, barely-endurable hours of flights I'm finally arriving the destination. The outset of the journal should more typically start with something like, "When I landed in Auckland what greeted my view was..." just like getting a greedy whiff of the detergent straightly after buying it. Squandering the first serial to splutter about the discomfort of my plane journey should never come to the fore if the journey was guaranteed to be smooth and silky. Unfortunately, most of the auspicious trips I've taken were, by reflection, blighted by the insuppresible panic due to the horrid flight.
Some measures have been taken over the years, since flying becomes the only priority to obtain my abroad education, I must think of something to alleviate my phobia. While taking off and landing prove to be the most hands-wringing moments, glossy magazines or any books with flatteringly colorful pictures are the most effective to distract attentions. En route of the journey, my playlists are embarrasingly crammed with music I seldom listen to: excessive pop songs, R&B's or even some Hip-Hops with cloying female vocals. It is vital to burn my ears with music everytime a turbulence ensue, with the vain hope that it will immediately dust away with the music.
Something noteworthy: whenever I board a plane I will become inexplicably religious. I cross my fingers perpetually, I pray and talk to God perpetually. Some people I've held a long-standing grudge will suddenly become endearing, and those whom I've already loved, a strong desire to snuggle them to bits.
So everything reverted to its order when I landed in Auckland safe and sound. The sceneary was still sparse in a melancholy scale; the people were still overly optimistic, like the sunshine is pouring through your windows instead of sifting through; their accents, still terribly unintelligible. Another six weeks until an anticipated night drive to the airport which looks impossibly welcoming in the wee hours.
I gorged myself with hearty food before dipping my head on the pillow, dreaming of the stars that never fall too low.
Some measures have been taken over the years, since flying becomes the only priority to obtain my abroad education, I must think of something to alleviate my phobia. While taking off and landing prove to be the most hands-wringing moments, glossy magazines or any books with flatteringly colorful pictures are the most effective to distract attentions. En route of the journey, my playlists are embarrasingly crammed with music I seldom listen to: excessive pop songs, R&B's or even some Hip-Hops with cloying female vocals. It is vital to burn my ears with music everytime a turbulence ensue, with the vain hope that it will immediately dust away with the music.
Something noteworthy: whenever I board a plane I will become inexplicably religious. I cross my fingers perpetually, I pray and talk to God perpetually. Some people I've held a long-standing grudge will suddenly become endearing, and those whom I've already loved, a strong desire to snuggle them to bits.
So everything reverted to its order when I landed in Auckland safe and sound. The sceneary was still sparse in a melancholy scale; the people were still overly optimistic, like the sunshine is pouring through your windows instead of sifting through; their accents, still terribly unintelligible. Another six weeks until an anticipated night drive to the airport which looks impossibly welcoming in the wee hours.
I gorged myself with hearty food before dipping my head on the pillow, dreaming of the stars that never fall too low.
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