I’m dying to fly..

..like the lady in front of me. Donning a knee-length batik dress with a matching navy blue cardigan and medium-heeled dark blue stilettos. She put down her dark blue trapeze leather bag on her aisle seat. As she was scanning the cabin compartment to place her four-wheeler slim cabin bag, a cabin crew helped her mount her carry-on. The luggage was as slim as her.

So slim that I believe it only fits her laptop and a night gown.

She took her seat, buckled up and sat poised. She did not bother to read the paper and definitely did not open any laptop nor gadgets. She just sat there quietly, lightly held onto her handbag.

Here I am, sitting three seats down, hurting my thumb while lifting my carry-on baggage onto the overhead compartment, filled with clothes for three days and two nights trip, a laptop bag in which a 2.5kg laptop resides, a DSLR camera that weighs slightly more than a kilogram, a bundle of papers on village boundary, and used papers full of my scribbles. On an international flight, I would certainly be barred from entering the cabin.

Economy class aisle seats tend to be cold when the plane reaches five digits altitude. Born with allergies to cold, I packed up a jacket. I opened and read a newspaper so that as it spreads, it warms my feet. At least I had a pair of leather loafers, lined with socks.

I looked like a Moose and that lady in blue embraced the pressurized cabin temperature. She was probably the older version of Princess Elsa from Disney’s Frozen.