11.19.25: The Long Flight

There’s a unique purgatory in long-haul flights. Lights dimmed, strangers snoring, meals arriving at odd hours. Time zones blur until you don’t know if it’s breakfast or dinner. I once watched four movies in a row and still had hours left. But there’s something special too. You’re nowhere. Not in the country you left, not in the one you’re going to. Suspended between places, forced into stillness. Life rarely gives you that. Maybe that’s why people drink on planes. Not for fun, but to surrender to the limbo. To admit, for once, that it’s okay to just wait.