Tess Nelligan

September 9, 2015
Writing and Rhetoric
Crying On Planes
As I step onto the Boeing 777, I breathe in the stale airplane air that
has become all too familiar to me over the past four years. It is hard for
me to believe it has been four years since my Dad had told my family
and I, we are moving to Singapore. In those four years, I somehow
matured from an ignorant eighth grader to a cultured high school
graduate. Those four years fostered some of the best experiences of
my life, and boy did those four years fly by; literally, fly by. In fact, half
my time living in Singapore was spent flying from one destination to
another, seemingly always suspended 30,000 feet in the air, en route
to my next adventure. Walking to my seat, tears roll down my cheeks
as I realize that this will be my final trip back to Singapore. The
sadness I feel is accompanied by nostalgia and also by a specific
memory, one of my unfortunate first plane ride to Singapore four years
ago.
Rewind four years, summer was over and my family and I were
about to leave for the airport in order to travel from our home,
Chicago, to Singapore for the first time. As I stepped into the black
Acura that was taking us to the airport, I waved goodbye to everything
I loved and mentally prepared myself for the eighteen-hour flight
ahead of me. Considering that the longest flight I had taken before this
monstrous one was two hours long, it was safe to say I felt super
prepared for what was to come. When I first stepped foot on the
Boeing 777 I took a moment to admire what my surroundings would be
for the next eighteen hours. Upon entering the plane, I was
momentarily blinded by the bright blue patterned seat cushions and
the fluorescent lighting. Once my eyes adjusted to the tackiness, I
decided to take my seat. As almost everyone knows, the middle seat in
an airplane is the one most desired. That is why I felt like the luckiest
girl in the world when I ended up being seated between a rude middleaged man and my obnoxious older brother, Liam, on this eighteen-hour
joyride. After getting as comfortable as possible in the cramped
quarters known as my economy seat, I decided to take out my laptop
to watch a movie. That was my biggest mistake. Me, being the klutz
that I am, dropped my computer face first onto the tray built into the
seat and watched as my computer screen shattered. As tears rained
down my cheeks, Liam could not resist the temptation to say nice
going, idiot, as well as throw in a derisive laugh to boot. On the bright
side, my tears stopped soon after when I looked up to discover all of
my fellow passengers glaring at me. With no computer and no books
and now no chance of making friends on the plane, I decided the next
best thing to do was sleep, so I did.

During my slumber I dreamt of what my life would have been like

if my Dad had decided not to take the job offer in Singapore. For one
thing, I would not be on this horrid airplane with a broken laptop. Also, I
would never have had to say goodbye to my friends and family. The
more I thought about it, the angrier I became. How dare my Dad move
us to Asia! I had never even left the United States before. I ended up
sleeping fitfully for the rest of the flight, dreaming of ways to get back
at my dad for ruining my life.
Back in the present, I wipe away my tears and laugh at my
former self. Now, I am able to see the opportunities that those eighteen
hours of traveling afforded me and appreciate every moment of them.
My Dad made the right decision moving my family and I to Singapore
and what my bratty eighth grade self couldnt see was how fortunate I
am. As I buckle my seat belt, I promise myself that I will enjoy every
moment of my last plane ride to Singapore, even if it ends up being
exactly like my first.