Sometimes, it still feels unreal.
I am there, at home between the ground and the nothingness, hearing the sweet music of engine, propeller and wind, feeling the soft strains of the airplane making her way and keeping that fragile equilibrium of four forces, completely at peace... and the wonder comes in, and the strangeness of reality, a reality that still has the elements of a dream.
A dream that lived on in the face of peremptory denials, bad vision (corrected), color blindness (tested and passed), imbecilic regulation (in Mexico), and decades of sadness and longing.
Since October 13th, 2015, I am home. Home, after 44 years of waiting, and believing, and marching on with the stubbornness of the exile looking for home.
5 years. 250+ hours. The joy and peace of several lifetimes.
I am a man, and I fly, an old dream of men.
