ELEVEN HOURS of Soul Searching

Seat 30B

'Welcome on board.' 

A cheerful stewardess looks at me and smiles broadly with a set of impeccably straight and glaring white teeth. Her name is Doreen. At least that's what it says on her name tag.

I greet her with a short Hi! and show my boarding pass. She gives me one of those 'head to toe' looks. In this situation - I take no offence. 

During that brief moment of interaction, her job is to make a snap judgement to establish if I am fit enough to fly. 

If it's to believe that only seven per cent of communication is verbal and the rest ninety - three is body language and tone of voice, then she already must have figured that I am not drunk, aggressive, nor physically sick. Does broken heart count, though?

'Seat 30A - by the window.' 

I guess not.

The stewardess points to the place, and I make my way through a narrow space in between the seats. I am the first one in the row of three, so I take out all the staff I am going to need during the journey and drop them on the seat in front of me. 

I place my handbag in the locker above my head and at last - sink into a large cushioned chair, that in just a few hours will turn into an instrument of torture.

I take a loud, deep breath and pat myself on the shoulder for making it to the plane and enduring the heartfelt goodbye with my life in California.

'Ekhm! Don't forget about your little meltdown there.'

'How could I if I have you to remind me?'

The next few minutes after boarding are always nerve-wracking, because they are the most crucial in shaping the experience of the whole flight - the allocation of fellow seat-mates. 

Also, being socially anxious means that any casual chitchat can turn into a traumatic experience.

I am not particularly proud of the size of my carbon footprint. However, having spent a fair amount of time in the air showed me that there are passengers who can ruin the whole experience and turn it into a living nightmare. Some people act strangely when locked in a confined space with others.

'With your luck, it's going to be a demon-possessed child disowned by their own parents. Or what's worse, a smelly individual, who feels like they are in the domesticity of their pigsty instead.'

I shrug. I hold my noise-blocking headphones and a small deodorant ready to use in case of an emergency. Either way, I came well prepared for any sort of plausibility of this to happen.

Just minutes later, I meet my first fellow traveller.

'Disculpe, senorita! Seat 30C?' 

A young Hispanic man, in his early twenties, asks with a strong accent and sends me a charming smile. 

What strikes me the most, apart from his comic bowl cut, is his white t-shirt with 'Jesus saves' printed on it. For a second, I fear, he might be one of those religious fanatics, but then I remember that faith is deeply rooted amongst most Latin Americans.

'By the time we land, you are going to know the Bible by heart.'

'Maybe that's going to be enough to exorcise your existence from my head!'

I watch the man for a while. By the look of him, I can tell he doesn't fly often. He tosses his things on the seat, then puts them back into the rucksack, just to take them out again, not capable of making a decision what he's going to need. Finally, he decides on headphones and a bottle of water.