I have no memory of a day in my life that I have not wanted to fly.
My first drawings, my first kindergarten handicrafts, my first toys, all had wings. The Mexico City airport, for so many a transient or obligatory (and thus despised) place, was for me a portal to a world I always perceived as my own, from the smell of jet fuel to the special music of propellers and turbines, and a dimension of the human condition where, above all others, I found belonging and peace. My eyes and my head always turned upwards, as soon as I could perceive the sound of a flying machine going overhead.
I never wanted to be anything else. And when I was told I would never be able to fly, I sought every means to revert that sentence, until I had the immense fortune of discovering a way; the dream of a lifetime and the opportunity to turn it into reality were given back to me.
Today it is no longer a dream. From that day, October 13, 2015, and until my last day, I will be, no matter what else I come to be, no matter what else I have been and achieved, and will achieve, what I wished to be. A wish, sometimes repressed, sometimes diminished, but never extinguished; a passion born since I have had a sense of being, and maybe before. The only title I have ever sought, because I wanted it, not because I had to; the only title I will proudly carry for as long as my body can hold me in the air: FAA Licensed Airplane Pilot.
