At 30,000 Feet
It' s been eight years since I left Thailand, and I' m still not used to the power I feel every time I put on this uniform. The pristine fabric, the shining buttons, and the patch with my name: Isabela Gonzales, Flight Captain. I never stop feeling proud when I catch my reflection in the airport windows. I' m the youngest captain in the airline.
Today, like so many other times, I' m in the cockpit of a Boeing 787. The steady hum of the engines comforts me. In front of me, a symphony of lights, indicators, and screens. Every detail has a purpose, and every decision I make in this seat is a declaration of who I am and how far I' ve come.
Out the window, the horizon glows orange as the sun begins to set. From up here, the clouds stretch like a soft blanket, and the earth is barely a distant line.
At 30,000 feet, everything seems smaller, I tell myself as I adjust the controls and check the aircraft' s position. My co-pilot' s voice sounds in my headset, briefly pulling me from my thoughts:
"All under control, Captain."
I nod without looking at him, focused on the route ahead. Every time I take the controls, I feel like the entire universe is beneath my feet, but I also remember the sacrifices that brought me here. It wasn' t easy to reach this point. My mind briefly returns to the days when I was torn between loneliness and the fear of failure. But now, all of that feels like a distant memory, a storm that finally stopped roaring.
My steady voice resonates through the intercom:
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Gonzales speaking. We are cruising at an altitude of 30,000 feet. Thank you for choosing to fly with us. We' ll begin our descent shortly."
I end the transmission with a slight smile. This is my place, my destiny.
The flight landed smoothly at Vancouver International Airport. Despite the long hours in the air, my body felt light. That blend of exhaustion and satisfaction is something only a pilot can understand.
I walked through the terminal with the crew, my uniform perfectly fitted, my hair pulled into a flawless bun. Some passengers turned to look at me, surprised to see such a young woman in command of a plane. I couldn' t help but smile with pride. Every time I hand over my ID at hotels, the receptionist double-checks my birthdate. Yes, I' m young. Yes, I' m the captain. And yes, I earned it.
The crew transferred to the designated hotel in a shuttle. It was a comfortable place, with spacious rooms and a view of the sea. Once inside my room, I dropped my suitcase by the bed and slipped off my shoes, sighing with relief. I headed to the desk and pulled my ID from my pocket. I could still see the look of surprise on the receptionist' s face when she checked my age.
As I looked at my reflection in the mirror, my mind wandered to Seoul, two years ago, when fate crossed my path with MinJi once again. My Korean friend, whom I hadn' t seen since those turbulent days in Thailand, was visiting her parents. It was a coincidence that we ran into each other at the airport. When MinJi saw me in uniform, her eyes lit up with pride.
"You made it, Isa!" she said, hugging me. "I always knew you would, but seeing you like this... it' s incredible."
That conversation stayed with me, especially when she added:
"I remember how hard it was for you to learn Thai. But I was right, wasn' t I? If you don' t put love into something, you' ll never master it."
Now I speak Thai, I think, smiling softly at the memory. It wasn' t easy, but I got there about 70% confidence and 5% improvisation.
I sit on the bed, watching the city lights through the window. I' ve come a long way from the insecure, lost teenager I once was. Now, every flight is a reminder of my strength and determination. This is my place. This is where I belong.
Tomorrow, Vancouver will be my playground for a few hours before heading back. But tonight, I' m just a young woman proud of what she' s achieved, grateful for the heights she' s reached literally and metaphorically.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling me from my thoughts. I looked at the screen: Richard Hayes. A name I didn' t expect to see so soon.
"Hello?" I answered curiously.
"Good evening, Isabela. Am I interrupting?" Richard' s voice was calm and professional, yet carried a tone of urgency.
"Not at all. Is everything okay?"
"I' m calling because we need to reinforce our crews in Asia. There' s been a significant increase in demand, and we' d like you to take a more active role in that region."
"A more active role? Are you suggesting a temporary relocation?"
"Exactly. It would be a great opportunity for you. Your skills and experience are exactly what we need."
I stayed silent for a moment, letting his words sink in. Singapore, Tokyo, Bangkok... Back to Asia? Memories of my teenage years began to flood in, but I quickly pushed them aside. This was different. This was my career. My dream.
"What do you think, Isabela?" Richard pressed gently.
"I' m interested, but I need a few days to think about it," I replied at last.
"Of course, take your time. But not too much. We' ll need an answer by the end of the week."
"Understood. Thank you for trusting me, Richard."
"Thank you. Rest well, Captain."
I ended the call and let out a long breath. Back to Asia? My reflection stared back at me in the mirror calm, poised, determined. Maybe it was time to face my past... and keep flying toward new horizons.
I eventually accepted Richard Hayes' offer. Moving to Tokyo was a challenge, but one I was ready to face. Japanese would be the third language I' d master, and by now, learning a new language no longer scared me. My career as a pilot had taken me to unimaginable places, but I knew this change would be different an opportunity to prove to myself that I could adapt to any environment.
The day started early at Haneda Airport. The rush of passengers, the smell of freshly brewed coffee, and the hum of countless languages filled the air—an atmosphere that felt oddly like home. My uniform was immaculate, each insignia perfectly placed. When I caught my reflection in one of the windows, I smiled. Being a pilot wasn' t just a job. It was who I was.
In the briefing room, the day' s itinerary was announced: Tokyo to Bangkok. My heart skipped a beat when I heard the destination. Bangkok. It felt like destiny was toying with me. I hadn' t been back since I left eight years ago. I missed my mother, and the possibility of seeing her filled my chest with a mix of nostalgia and anticipation.
After reviewing the flight plan with my co-pilot and the crew, we headed to the aircraft. The pre-flight procedures were second nature now: system checks, weather briefings, coordination with control. Everything was in order. The calm, professional tone I used to address the passengers stood in contrast to the storm of emotion brewing inside me.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Gonzales speaking. We are cruising at an altitude of 30,000 feet. Thank you for flying with us. We' ll begin our descent into Bangkok shortly."
Upon landing, I followed the usual protocol. I thanked the passengers as they disembarked, offering a slight bow a gesture I' d learned in Thailand and had since adopted as part of my routine. The grateful faces and polite nods in return reminded me why I loved this job.
After saying goodbye to the crew, I grabbed my bag and stepped into the bustling Suvarnabhumi Airport. The signature heat and humidity of Bangkok wrapped around me immediately. My eyes scanned the crowd not looking for anything in particular, yet somehow... searching.
And there she was.
Standing near a private jet lounge, Kamon looked entirely in her element. Her posture was poised and confident. Despite the years that had passed, she hadn' t changed much. Her hair was tied back in a neat bun, and she wore a flawless suit. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized her. For a moment, time collapsed, and I was once again that confused, vulnerable girl.
Kamon looked up, and our eyes met. Hers widened slightly, as if she, too, was surprised. I froze for a second, then—like some inner autopilot had kicked in. I turned around and walked toward the other exit.