“Tell me something about YOU that would make me see you differently.”
I have acrophobia… an intense fear of heights.
I’m not sure when I developed this crazy fear, but I can remember a scene from my childhood. My brothers and I used to climb to the roof of our two-car garage and jump off. Not literally climb off, but we would climb a tree behind the garage and then shimmy across a limb to the back of the garage.
Then we would hang off the edge of the roof and drop down to the dirt below.
The roof was at a downward slant at the back, so as we moved towards the front (above the entrance), the roof got higher. My brothers were older than me, but there was a kid my age who was fearless.
He would climb onto the roof, run to the front, hang off the edge, and jump down.
I remember one day it was my turn. I should have known something was wrong that day because I had the damnedest time shimmying across the branch in the back to make it to the roof.
When I finally made it to the roof, I was tired, but I was determined to jump like the crazy kid.
I leaned over the edge —
The ground looked a lot further away than usual. I felt my stomach twist in a knot.
Still, I swung one leg over, then the next, and I started to lower my body —
And I got stuck on a nail. It hooked my Tee and I couldn’t get it off. I started to panic. I thought, “Well, I’ll just jump.” But if I did, and my shirt held firm even for a moment too long, and it didn’t tear, I would flip upside down and crash on my side…
Or worse, on my head.
I tried climbing back up, but I was tired and couldn’t swing my legs to the top of the roof to climb back up.
I panicked more.
And then my brother climbed up to the roof, reached over and snatched my T-shirt from the nail. I was free.
But I was scared. I was free to jump, but I didn’t want to jump. I was done with that shit.
I begged my brother to pull me up, and he did. I never jumped again.
Even though I am afraid of heights, I have purposefully travelled to the top of the Empire State Building and the observation deck of the original World Trade Center towers during my lunch break when I worked at Battery Park Plaza, NY.
And I love planes.
I am an aerophile, an AV geek, a plane spotter.
I can sit at an airport lounge and watch planes take off and land all day.
My favorite is –of course– the queen of the skies, the Boeing 747. I also love what I call the ocean liner in the sky: the Airbus A380, a smooth-flying aeronautical mechanical marvel. The Boeing 777 holds a special place in my heart. The Airbus A350 is dope too.
I still want to fly a 787 Dreamliner.
If I had to choose between Boeing and Airbus, I would choose…
I hate to spoil it for regional flyers or corporate jetsetters, but I do not like small jets or their ilk. Period. They are susceptible to turbulence.
Moreover, I do not like propellers. I respect them, but I do not want them.
I’ve flown to Vietnam five times from 2017 to 2022. It’s 22-27 hours of flying—one way, and at 41,000 feet.
When I fly internationally, it matters to me what plane I’m on.
And I will be very picky about choosing my flight so that I can be on a big plane that I like.
I actually enjoy long-haul travel.
For right now, my favorite terminal in the US is the Tom Bradley International Terminal at LAX. I have fond memories there.
And my favorite airport is Changi in Singapore.