Years ago, whenever I had dreams that involved airplanes, they always end up crashing.

The one I distinctly remember was when I was about 13 years old. I dreamt that I was at my cousin’s place and we were watching the news, and they were featuring this plane that crashed somewhere in the Philippines. We went out of the house and saw another plane crash landing in the next village.

It’s a wonder I never think about these dreams whenever I ride a plane.

Last night’s dream was different. I was inside the plane and it didn’t crash. Instead, there was a couple of people who had every intention of mugging me, but gave up since I can hardly understand what they were saying, wandering into the business and first class section of the plane and seeing lounges, long couches, and even velvet-clad beds. The best part was when the plane flew so low in the ground, it was as if it’s taxing on the highway. It went down a ramp and on its way back up, it went up to almost a 90 degrees angle and shot up. When it was high above the ground, it started to turn, which pretty much had us turning upside down. Thank god I had my seatbelts on.

I find it really ironic how I’m now enamored with airplanes. Back in pre-school we had a field trip to the Philippine Airline’s hangar where they had several small planes on display. We can go inside one of the bigger planes to see what’s inside, or stand on the rungs of the smaller planes to have our picture taken. I was paranoid even as a kid, and I was certain that as soon as I step on the plane, it would take off. My cousin who accompanied me had a hard time convincing me just to have my picture taken on one of the Cessnas. I finally relented and was relieved when the plane didn’t take off.

I was such a silly child.