Staring at a safety card barely poking up between the barf bag and the inflight magazine. I’ve seen the flight attendant perform the safety ritual countless times before. But this time I wonder if I would really remember any of it facing an emergency.

The cabin lights soon dim as we climb high into the clouds. A window seat is rare as I usually prefer the isle, but tonight I am too tired to care. Thoughts of past and memories of what is to come steal my attention.

Blue and purple tints break my concentration and I turn my head. Mangled lines of light forced into the shape of a child’s drawing of a mountain. Every flash shows the reflection of myself in the window. I notice 29 years of lines around my eyes mimicking the forked lighting.

When did I grow up?

A childhood photograph of myself presents itself in my mind. I know the photograph well but I do not know myself at that time. I lay on my stomach next to a card house made from my mother’s recipe cards. I am smiling.

I wish I knew what I was thinking at that moment. It’s after a school day because I am still wearing the reminants of a Catholic school uniform. Gray cords and a white polo shirt. The same wardrobe for 8 years of my life.

I distinctly remember shopping for school clothes with my family every year. The event would take place in the school gymnasium I once thought was so large. Rows of folding tables would form geometric isles. The same items on every table just in different sizes. White polo shirts, gray cords, gray pleated skirts that landed well below the knee and the dreaded navy blue sweater vest.

Another flash brings my mind back to present. What was the point of that thought?

I continue to stare out this window fixating my eyes on the point where the next light will form. I am always wrong. I live in a world where I’m always anticipating and manipulating the light. But this is beyond my comprehension. It fascinates me.

The sound of a doorbell rings and a reddish hue glows through the symbol of a seatbelt being fastened. I feel my body fighting to find balance as the plane is turbulent. But my mind is elsewhere.

The man to my left clinches my side of the arm rest. He accidentally presses my seat recline button and I drift in reverse. He turns to me and awkwardly motions an apologetic movement. I nod.

I wonder where this man is from. He is not Vietnamese nor Cambodian. My eyes search for signs. The first three letters of his Vietnam entry card under nationality read “Fil”, and I smile. My first time leaving the United States was to the Philippines. The new found excitement for traveling I once had seems to have faded a bit in recent happenings.

The plane finds itself once again and the man releases a heavy breathe from his lips. The blue and purple tints grow dimmer now. I miss them already. The journey home is faster than I remembered. Or perhaps I was just lost for most of it.

Staring at a safety card barely poking up between the barf bag and the inflight magazine. I've seen the flight attendant perform the safety ritual countless times before. But this time I wonder if I would really remember any of it facing an emergency. The cabin lights soon dim as we climb high into the ...