I felt like I was 70 degrees down in hell when I arrived in Kabul hours ago. Not because of the glamour of heat, it was February after all, but because of the state the airport adorned: ancient, cracked, used and ransacked during the wars. It looked way better than last time, they cleared most of the debris off the runway. We had survived the chain of rough unyielding mountains, cut like diamonds but in a carbon state. I’ve always hated flying and swore every flight had been the worst and filled with imaginary pilot errors. Turbulence is a testimony of our unnatural presence in the sky, it shouldn’t be. We’d be levitating by now if it was part of our DNA. Why do I need a machine to do something for me? Humans! Plus, after reading multiple times on the how’s, still not understanding the method of lift, clunks of metals lighter than air type of crap I figured if I can’t get it then my fear is justified. Can’t be worse than proving spiders are perfect miracles of God.
Then I heard an “Oy!” Guess who was calling me?