If you have taken a flight with me, you would know I have a tremendous fear of flying or, to be exact, fear of dying while flying.
Every time the aeroplane takes off, my cool airport chick persona jumps out of the plane, leaving me with my inner voice screaming to me things like: “Yep, you are going to die today; I hope wherever you’re going is worth the risk!” or “You should have given your laptop password to Fafa, no-one knew about your digital will”. At times, it would just calmly whisper, “You.die.today”.
I hate taking flights!
I hate being crammed like sardines with strangers and lifted 40,000 feet up in the air.
How the hell does the huge metal thing fly anyway?
I usually try to trick myself to not to keep thinking that someone I have never met before is in charge of my family’s bloodline for the next few hours, so I watch the flight entertainment (if it’s not a budget flight, I am taking, which is very rare) or I read my kindle.
And I eat.
Inflight dining is the only good thing about being up in the air.
I was served at predetermined times and woken up for it. I was offered choices and was surprised when I opened my meal of choice, which I groggily chose while still half awake.
This is the only thing I can tolerate while squeezed in between strangers.
Over the years, I made a record of my (what-at-that-time-felt-like-the) last meal (no exaggeration) — I must tell you this idea is not original. I got it from Veve of V in V_Hongkong — and I will start sharing it here on the blog.
That’s all for now.
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[…] you guys, I am bringing to you another instalment of Inflight Dining, where I take pictures of the things I eat 40,000 feet up in the air and share them with you for no […]