a cloudy conspiracy

a pitch for a magazine that wasn't accepted. on clouds and their presence for us to embrace the present.

Some time ago, I was on a home bound flight that had this near omnipresent feeling.

The 6 P.M. Delta flight between San Juan, Puerto Rico and New York-JFK. The airport smelled of freshly cooked pernil and was sort of muggy. I was returning to the city refreshed from a 4-day weekend trip with my family and missed out on Bad Bunny (still love him though).

Even thought I felt refreshed, I was in such a hellbent haste to get home- to get the flight over with and get back to my house to abide by the same daily routines:

1. Wake up.

2. Listen to ‘Be On Your Way’ by Daughter about 3 times.

3. 30-minutes of stretching.

4. Text my friends back from the night before.

5. Get a latte with almond milk and two stevia.

6. Sit down and send pitch emails mindlessly.

7. Write another poem.

I was boarding in ‘Zone 3’ because we paid extra- even though no passenger was really abiding by the boarding rules. Outside of the surprisingly elongated jet bridge, I could hear small pats of rain on its metal roof. I did my usual plane tap for a safe, easy flight back- especially because this was one of my first times flying overwater. I sat in my seat, 16F, and saw that I wasn’t directly on the wing but also not directly off it. Mom’s next to me, Gramma at the end, and my nephew on the aisle seat parallel to Gramma’s.

There was an interesting heat I felt in my stomach before taking-off. Watching one-time faces pass by that I’ll never see again after that flight but wondering if they’re ambitious like me- or just want to take in the little bit of liminal space they have 35,000 feet in the air. Then I glanced at the clouds that ceiling between the land where we will eventually return to and the sky where it’s an imaginative ecosystem of stars at night, sun during the day, and planes using it like a dedicated rapid transit system lane.

Then I closed my shade.

Twenty minutes after we first ascended, we reached the maximum cruising altitude.

I opened my seat shade (I always prefer a window seat). I saw that it was going to be a cloudy ride back. These clouds looked phallic, round, thin, wide, and ultimately like they had their own peaceful diversity. They looked like they knew their purpose to serve. They know where they came from and how that cycle is unending but always varying in their genesis.

My nephew had his light blue headphones on and he’s watching a downloaded episode of ‘Jessie.’ He’s unworried about when he’ll get home because he enjoys the concept of being in the air.

Gramma is taking small bites of the signature biscoff cookies and sipping on english breakfast laughing at an episode of ‘Will and Grace’ downloaded to her phone. She was calm- She was present.

Mom was extra close to her earth-shattering snore, so I nuzzled her to let her know.

I was texting my friend Brooklyn on the plane’s very unreliable Wi-Fi. She asked me how my trip was- I sent her a picture of the clouds and how stunningly they formed as the plane passed them.

Then comes the wall I mentioned earlier- my “conspiracy” is that clouds hide important details for the sake of emotional and mental presence. Sometimes, we aren’t supposed to see the water we’re crossing in a very real, very valid fear of flying.

We are just supposed to (ironically) ground ourselves in that metal container with the ones we love, who know us, and are just as interested in the clouds that pass by but also in the presence of love.

The only faces we’ll see again.

There’s a universe above, there’s a universe below and both work symbiotically in their many differentiations.

So why did I need to get home so urgently?

I didn’t! I needed to be enrobed in the moment I was in. The sense of peace that only a family could provide before returning back to the hectic city life.

I started to feel that sense of relief and realization about an hour into the flight. The time passed as the sun was doing its final round of goodbyes for the day and painted the view almost ultra-chromatically, a purple and pink hue that could only be painted by the sky. The nighttime flight still had coffee, which is one of my favorite scents to relax, despite coffee’s lack of any calming qualities.

It wafted through the cabin like it was reclaiming space, like it owed its presence to everyone on board. Like the clouds felt they owed it to us to stay present above their wall. It’s not Godliness, but it’s something almost equally and tangibly ethereal.

How I love their gently bruised-by-the-sun crevices, and twists and twirls like wormholes inviting me to new universes.

Just as night fell and as far as the visibility could go, my cloud conspiracy was confirmed. There was much to look at outside, but these clouds didn’t want me to.

They wanted me to play MarioKart with my nephew on his console, sip tea with Gramma as we watched our favorite movie: ‘Bohemian Rhapsody,’ and tell my mom I love her with every opportunity I get.

Clouds are our family and the pathway to presence.

I’ll keep finding them and looking away.

if you've made it this far

thank you so much for reading

i couldn't be more grateful❤️❤️