From the air- everything looks promising. Who cares if i´m Running off of fumes; was up till 3 am packing; already miss the comforts of home?

Peanuts? Orange juice? Water?

Every thing from the cabin door to the left over scraps found here at 30,000 feet leave me pondering what the next set of screeching, melting rubber wheels will unlock. Because I´ve been in and out of a lengthy, lucid lethargy, it almost feels like a dream.

My bodies cramped in a chair blanketed in a repeating, checkered blue fabric. My neighbor- new- now teeters back and forth between leaning uncontrollably on my left shoulder, and unconsciously knocking my knees with his. This whole ordeal makes first-world issues evaporate from the liquid of everyday life, come to reality, and pop like the bubbles hissing in my semi-flat coke.

You don´t have diet? We´re 5 minutes delayed? I have to sit in an exit row? Even without the contrast of a new country’s backdrop, experiences such as these cause me to question what sort of things I expect; what sort of things I feel entitled to; and ultimately, what sort of things I take for granted- as all luxuries slip out of sight on the tails of condensation and vaporize into trailing ribbons on the wing.

Waking up in the middle of a turbulent jolt- I realize how the lack of those alluded to comforts has begun to dig an emptiness in my gut- as full of potential as a blank canvas- yet accentuated by an ever growing distance. While florida´s coast grows closer on the horizon, my certainties, my control, diminish. Descents make my stomach feel queasier than usual. Muffled captains updates pretend to solace those now gripping their arm rests. In between hail mary´s and the opening of window covers, I get yelled at for having my tray table down. Like my carry on luggage- it looks like i´m going to have to stow these thoughts away until flight #2: Miami to Quito…