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Throughout my life there had always been two distinctive themes, I had always loved airplanes, and I had always disliked having my photograph taken. If I am photographed I just tend not to appear at ease, not because I think that I am particularly unattractive or anything like that, I just dislike the theater of it all. Here in the forest I couldn't help but to smile faintly at the irony of all that, despite the pain I was suffering. All was still and quiet were I was, no living thing made a sound or even a murmur here only the presence of a faint burning aroma kept me awake. I lay here motionless and weak entangled amongst all the rubble unable to gather the strength to free my self. I had finally reached a place were I no longer had to fulfill peoples dreams or make them proud. I am just reflecting now.
Reflecting now, the only real picture I had like of my self within an airplane was the one hanging in my parent's home it's the one of me as a young boy sitting in the cockpit of an Air Force flightier jet, grasping the controls and pretending to fly, a smile from ear to ear but not acknowledging the camera at all. My dream since I was a child had to become a flightier jet pilot, father had always said how I would make the ultimate pilot even as a toddler he constantly reminded that we such a profession I could be in charge of flying jumbo jets, traveling the world at the same time but believed that to become a flightier jet pilot I was just settling for second best. It was fathers dream for me to become a pilot, also a dream he had held for himself since he was in his early teens but due to his poor vision it prevailed him from doing so.
At the first opportunity I applied to join the Air Force. I had gone shopping with my with my father to buy a suit for the upcoming interview as I had been selected for an interview in front of the air force selection board. This in itself was bizarre. I had never been shopping with my father before and my father was exactly delighted at the prospect of me joining the 'military', as he called it, to become a pilot. He felt I was giving myself into the second best option and that I should continue my education and become a 'real' pilot, a commercial pilot. My determination over ruled his choice. The following week I wore that navy blue suit and gold tie I had brought that father believed it made me look mature and worthy too fly, nonetheless I wore it with pride. Father took a photograph of me just before I set off to my interview I smiled, out of the ordinary for me I think it was because I was excited, but my eyes were glancing down at the floor, my dislike on photographs shinning through once again. The interview wasn't quite the success I had wished so long for, I passed the selection test with flying colours but had failed the medical. My eyesight was quite up to standard, slightly off the perfect vision needed for a career of such extreme. I was in tears from the moment I exited the large glass door at the air force base till I got home, father knew the outcome as soon as I entered, in a sense I could tell that he was glad. Numerous times preceding the interview he had told me that as a young and mature man I should destine myself by working in such hostile conditions of the armed forces.
I had never had the desire to kill anybody; in fact I had never really thought about the Air Force in that context, I was just that determined to experience life at such high speed, altitudes and come into contact with such an adrenalin rush. That I believed my eyesight should stop me from doing had longed for. Against my fathers will I left behind my education and rested in joining the army. I don't know what possessed me to do so I just did. No photos on my exit to military school were taken by my father, no good byes were said from him to me just a blank disappointing look held on his face, heart braking to myself a sure sign that I had let him down but there was no turning back I had already made the promise to my country to collaborate with its forces.
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Just after completion of military school I was sent to combat, an exercise I did not wish to accomplish although of my years of military training, I was scared in fact frighten of my future. The hardest part was to go back home and tell father of my duties for my country. That blank look once again but the words that came out of his mouth, 'you never can keep a good man down' not so heart braking this time round instead his words stayed with me out on them battle fields lingering in the back of my mind every time I became afraid, nervous or ready to give up.
The witnessing of dead people laying on the ground for all to see with prime evidence they had died in a violent and acrimonious manner gave me the greatest cause to find a way out of the battle fields. I could help but to regret the decision I had made to join the army and began wishing that I had listened to my father.
I was glad that I wasn't on the battlefields anymore or that I didn't have to fly the flightier jets that dropped bombs on the innocent. Still caught up in the war I was placed in the hospital barracks distributing the dread tags of life and death to the injured that arrived. Choosing the fate of a person life took a toll on mine, at times I found myself no longer able appreciate the small rations I received as the sight and smell of food had become that of death, I couldn't explain why, it just seemed that way at the time. I had become weak and found my self now a patient. Lying next to me in the revolting shaggy old beds made from rough linen was a pilot who had made his way here after his jet was fired down. Listening to his journey it passed the time but one thing became apparent to me. I had only longed to be a pilot to please me father although it was still second best joining the air force, I believed that he would still be proud of me. I found an empty space within myself and I had wept.
I returned back home just after 1 months of serving in the war from my country. I returned a change man, I confined within myself to scared to express my feelings and experiences, finding it difficult to return back to life, as it was prior to war things we just so different. I did different things for a while, father never satisfied with the professions I confided in. So I started to take flying lesson, even though it was tough I couldn't let me father down twice. I wanted to make his dream a reality, make him really proud this time, even though deep down it wasn't my dream at all and because 'you never can keep a good man down' I became a commercial pilot, recruited and trained by an airline.
My airplane seats around one hundred and fifty passengers and prior I had never fully understood how important a pilot's job really is. Over a beer some evenings father and I joking that I was also a lifesaver, it was the truth because airplanes do crash and a pilot might well be blamed for killing its passengers.
Father considers I am the luckiest person he knows, because I achieved my dream, little did he know that I had really achieved his dream. The best picture he holds of me was when I was awarded my pilot wings at a special ceremony, a picture that he had taken and blown up placed over the fireplace and admires every evening. A photo that I actually acknowledged the camera smiled and looked straight into the lenses because I finally knew that he wasn't just proud of me, he was proud of everything I had achieved in my life.
After 10 years of service in the airline industry, it was to be my last flight but something went go wrong. I'm not sure what it was, maybe an electrical fault that started a small fire, maybe something different. The truth is that is that no lives could be saved out here, not in the dense forest. All the passengers and cabin crew are silent and alone scattered by debris of the crash, only the scent of jet fuel hangs around us. But here in the forest no one can be saved and there is no hurry to do anything, I can't make any one happy and cant fulfill anyone's dreams here. All I know is that father will confine in believing that it was a misfortune that I died doing what I loved.
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