5 December 2009
Mid-air Flight 225 Brussels to Chennai
I don’t mind them, really. They have needs and can’t verbalize them, and as an inhibited person, I get it. So on flights that are 10+ hours long, I don’t mind hearing them scream from across the aisle. But! There’s something about babies that refuse to be comforted.
What is it that you want? I think that in the 10+ flight hours, your parents have done everything they could possibly have thought of to try to pacify you. But you refuse to be appeased and placated. I wonder if there is something that you relish in your anguish. If there is something pleasurable in hearing your own anguished wails that even the healing promise of sleep cannot tempt you. Baby, don’t you don’t realize that your energy is precious? Wasting your youth so absorbed in your own unhappiness is a crime. How many packages of Juicy Juice will it take to replenish your tears?
Please don’t think I don’t understand you. I was once a baby too. Even now as an adult, when I am upset, comfort does not come easily and only sleep, however troubled and fitful, can dry my salty cheeks. But I take comfort in uneasy dreams.
I wonder what sort of woman you will grow up to be. Will you continue to take shelter in some internal struggle, invisible and unknown to the world? Little Joan Jett, will you scoff at the idea of burning gently and go in a blaze?
Oh baby, abandon your invisible plight and take comfort in the arms of those who love you. Because the rest of us can only turn our headphones up so loud. Sleep baby, and may the world look different when you wake.
WORD!!!