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I’ve always liked flying. I like airplanes, I like airports. I like people-watching and guessing where they’re going, or imagining their stories. I like guessing people's nationality at the airport. I like when people interact with each other at the airport, and I like just minding my own business, too. There's something comforting about the whole airport ecosystem. I like exploring different terminals—each one has its own vibe—and I love that brown noise hum when we’re flying. It’s like a weird lullaby for grown-ups.

But when it comes to flying itself, I’ve noticed there are two versions of me.

Version One is super chill. I’m regulated, maybe even productive. I might write or just zone out, vibing to the sound of the engine and the dim blue glow of the cabin lights. Sometimes I even get bored and lowkey wish for a bit of turbulence—just to shake things up, to feel something.

Version Two? That one’s not cute. That version shows up when I’m dysregulated. I'm anxious, when life has been chaotic or I’m in my head too much. In that state, even a tiny bit of turbulence makes me nauseous, spiraling, sweaty-palmed. I can’t relax. It’s all noise and discomfort.

When I flew to Bangkok, I was definitely Version Two. Everything that day was overstimulating. I was late, flustered, had to buy a new ticket. Chaos.

But I ended up on a good airline—a Thai Airways flight. Solid plane. My seatmates? On one side was a nun, who said she was on her way to Pakistan for a mission. She was calm, educated, radiating wisdom. On the other side, a chill Hong Kong lady who was just vibing, watching her in-flight movie, living her best life.

I talked a lot with the nun, because I was interested in her way of living and how calm she was. I think she said something really inspiring but I couldn't remember it LOL. I'll update it here when I got back to the notes on my old-phone I think I wrote it down there.

Anyways.... Then came the turbulence.

It wasn’t the cute, little bump-in-the-road kind. It was the "oh no, are we actually falling?" kind. The kind that makes the whole plane drop, like your stomach is left behind midair. Not once, but twice. Maybe three times. Honestly, I lost count. The plane couldn't even land in Bangkok right away—they had to fly 20 minutes north, circle around, and try again later. When I looked at the flight map, we were ridiculously far from the airport.

At one point, it got so bad the pilot came on and was like, “Alright, everyone, buckle up. We’re going in.”

The nun beside me started praying. Hardcore praying. THE CALM NUN WAS NOT CALM ANYMORE.

And the Hong Kong lady? She saw how pale and panicked I looked and just—without a word—reached over and held my hand. HELD MY HAND. Oh my God. It was that bad eh.

That small gesture broke something open in me. I whispered, “Thank you so much,” and she just nodded and said, “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

So I breathed. And I prayed. For the first time in a long time, I really prayed. LOL.

We landed—roughly, but safely—and I could finally exhale. The rest of that Bangkok trip? Honestly, not great. But that flight? That chaos in the sky? I’ll never forget it. It was terrifying. But also kind of beautiful. How everything is always taken care of, and how it's going to be OK. Somehow.

Anyway, I just wanted to tell you about that.

Tasya