On a Jetplane.

Group A. Position 60. I move towards the middle of plane as I board.

Bags loaded into the overhead, children being calmed down. Everyone sitting.

I'm still standing. The people in front of me can't seem to figure out that the overhead just won't fit another bag with just a few inches of space.

I just want to sit down. I'm sleepy. I'm barely alert at this point.

I finally make my way to my seat. The window seat, obviously. A group of English women behind me giggle about some drama among friends.

I'm not annoyed. Too sleepy to be annoyed.

The plane begins moving. It's dark on the runway.

The pilot begins his spiel on the microphone. "Something, something seatbelts."
"Something, something masks on yourselves first"

I don't bother looking up.

The plane begins it's ascent. Slightly bumpy. I close my eyes at this point. The more sleep, the better.


I am awoken a few minutes later by the jaded voice of my pilot alerting everyone that we are right about to enter cruising altitude, or something.

I look out the window.

As close as it could get to happening, without it actually happening, my jaw drops.

My city is beautiful when viewed from a few thousand feet in the air, at night.

A sea of lights.

I reach for my phone to take a picture but take a pause before opening the camera.

This moment is mine, right now. No picture will be able to convey the feeling I have right now.

Awestruck wonder wafts over me. I'm surprised at myself. I'm not usually over sentimental.

Maybe it's because I'm alone. My thoughts are completely on what I see outside of this window.

I close my eyes. Beautiful as it is, I hate flying.

I still have a whole day of travel ahead of me.

Almost sincerely,
T.C. Barrera