So here we go. Across the waters, across the deep blue oceans, under the open skies, oh my. I hate flying. I know people come and go everyday, all the time, and the pilots have been through rigorous training and the stewards in the air have been briefed of all the safety procedures and that everything usually turns out alright. But I cannot help it. I hate flying. The motion-sickness, the stabbing pain from the sharp change in atmospheric pressure (or whatever pressure), the long hours, the cramped spaces and most of all, the unshakeable fear that I am going to die. I get my wicked knack for morbidity from my mother, one of the many things I've inherited from her.
So, I'm leaving for approximately a month, on a jet plane. I've been waiting for this for a long time and I know I'm going to enjoy my trip. But if I don't, and if I do die, then I just want to say that I've had a good life and thnks, everyone, fr th mmrs.
Take care, Singapore. Stay the same and don't let me down.
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