Flight through Angels


The flight from Singapore to Phnom Penh was full, a small plane and takes less than two hours. Usually I ask for an isle seat so I can stretch and walk about between movies without disturbing people. Now I have a window seat, a cramped and polyester window seat. As the plane rises I can see the cargo boats off shore of Singapore. I can see lines of roads and then clouds, piles of clouds, white clouds catching the afternoon sun.

My legs are stiff and I can’t straighten them to stretch but in compensation the little window flickers with flecks of light, little golden motes little angels bumping into my flying metal box. Food arrives, plastic water with its plastic nothingness wetting my lips, rice and fish in a plastic box, flakes of fish in a Thai curry the rice yellow with sauce. I wish I wasn’t hungry but I am and the fish is warm, and soft in my mouth, the rice is harder the texture slightly chewy. Scoop, chew swallow, scoop, chew swallow.

Dry skin, stiffness forgotten suddenly as we descend I see rice paddies of Cambodia appear like lines of jewels in the sun and the distant tangle of a city that goes on for ever.