Somewhere over France, 11 April 2015, 21:05
by Marta Moslw
I once heard that courage isn’t the absence of fear, but the determination of not letting those fears stop you.
I’m in a plane to Paris, yet I feel all kinds of things but courageous…
I try to sleep but I can’t. I’m too nervous. Instead I read, I fantasize about drawing but don’t (as usual) and I do what’s my favourite thing to do in trips… simply look through the window. Watching how the landscape changes as we fly over, I like to imagine what it would be like to explore these misterious and wild green lands and to live in one of these tiny fairytale villages. I daydream about colourful sunsets, the sweet smell of flowers in the morning, rainy days in a wooden cabin and romance, like the romance in good old films.
I wake up to the voice of one of the cabin crew members. Still half asleep I look through the window and realise it’s night time and we’re overflying an endless extension of roofs, big avenues and twinkling lights.
I rush to find my glasses in my backpack and wear them. I look through the window again. I don’t want to miss a single detail. I squint my eyes trying to naively spot the Sacre Coeur in the distance or maybe the Eiffel Tower, without any luck. All cities look the same from above, I guess…
As we approach the ground, I suddenly feel a soft beam of light fleetingly blinding my left eye. In the middle of the dark, I try to find where it’s coming from. For a few seconds as the plane lands, I manage to catch a glimpse of a million sparkling stars that cover what looks like a giant lighthouse, crowned by a big moving flashlight on the top…
Only that this is not a lighthouse…
I seize the arms of my seat tight as the plane hits the runway. My heart pounds hard with excitement.
When I exit the terminal Thomas is waiting for me. It’s been more than a year since we last saw each other and as soon as I hug him it feels as if it was yesterday when we were hanging out on the beach in Almería, rambling on about life and plans and dreams. It feels good to see a familiar face on a day like this. It helps me make some sense of all the emotional chaos going on inside me.
On our way to the city I still can’t believe this is real. Just a few hours ago I was home in Andalusia and now I’m in Paris? Am I? Really!? Something inside me tells me that tomorrow when I wake up I’ll be peacefully lying in my bed in Almería surrounded by my books and old photos. I miss home, I miss my sister and my parents. But I’m excited about the possibilities that lie in a future in which nothing is written.
Unless one believes in fate…
҉ ҉ ҉