You know it just struck me. After a conversation i was having.
Probably the reason I hate flying now is because I don’t smoke anymore.
Revelation. Rock fell on my head.
See, it was like this. I had a job where I flew a lot. Lot of international flights as well. Okay, mostly to Singapore, but that’s international too okay.
Anyway, so I’d catch the Singapore Airlines flight that departs at an unearthly hour of 11.50 or something. But more than the wine on board, or the movies, or even Singapore, it was that cab ride to the airport that did it for me.
I’d rush home from work. My red suitcase (bought especially when I took the job!) would always be out. And by then I pretty much had a readymade list of things to shove into it. Packing would take fifteen minutes. Then I’d have a 10 minute shower, change into my most comfortable jeans and top. Wear a jacket (the flight can get freaking cold, and those inadequate blankets are like tissue paper), my soft red converse shoes, spray perfume (always Issey Miyake those days).
Kiss the boy. Kiss the dog, and wheel my bag out.
I’d usually find a cab down the street. It would be raining, wipers waving in all directions. Settle in and sink back.
Watch headlights, bright lights, hoarding lights flash by. Take out a cigarette. Goldflake. Light it.
The first drag. Windows down. Crisp night air. My perfume mingling with the breeze. Wet hair flapping.
Nothing. But me and the night.
Me about to embark on a journey. Adventurous. Mysterious. To a land where no one knows me (And yeah, at least twice with no dollars in my wallet, because I left them in my office bag)
And the night. Warm, barmy, and in cahoots with me.
It always felt like a movie that was about to start.
That’s it then. Next time I have a flight to catch, I’m gonna smoke myself a honey dew.
PS: greygrasshopper and i are talking. And we lapse into bong. Pagol na pajama is a phrase used. And i laugh as i write it. So descriptive. Are you mad or are you a pajama? it's funny.