CAFUNÉ ǁ Part 1

Hello there. You might be wondering who I am and what my story is at the moment. The name’s Salameh, Layla Salameh. As for my story that’s for me to know and you to find out as you go on reading. I’m that kind of person who’s quite consumed by wanderlust. It’s the strong desire to travel if you were wondering, or at least I think it is depending on Google of course. Anyways, I’m now known to be quite the hero of hair; and yes it isn’t a typo, I did mean ‘hair’. I’m about to tell you how.

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 “Yes Mom...no I don’t need you to mail me peaches, who does that?” “Yes I know you love me but what do peaches have to do with that?” “Alrigh-Oh Mom the planes landing I’ll call you later_.” “Yes I’ll go to the bathroom when I arrive. Love you!”

 I rolled my eyes as I turned off my phone as quick as possible since the cocky airline hostess had her eyebrows knitted in an Arabic 8 shape as she grew frustrated at the amount of times I’ve been answering my phone during this 3 hour flight. Bloody hell, trust me if it were my choice not to answer to my Mom’s calls I wouldn’t, but god forbid if I ever dared to ignore a call; she’d have the FBI after me.

 Even though this is the 236^th plane I’ve been on I’ve never got quite used to the landings. Whenever the red seat belt lights start blinking, the same scenario manages to crawl into my thoughts which basically includes the insomniac pilot eventually feeling his eyelids get so heavy for him to carry, his mind drowsy and his brain fogging up like a cloudy day in London which ends up with his head hitting the control panel therefore making the hostess that’s holding a cup of coffee run towards him and dropping it on his co-pilot. Making the plane crash and we’d die. Wonderful thoughts innit?

 Honestly these thoughts first came to me when my cousins’ grandfather past away. It turned out he was on his way to see them and for no particularly known reason God decided that it was his and the other 97 passengers’ time. Kind of funny how he had been a Russian veteran for most of his life yet a bullet from an enemy was never the reason of his death but a rusty engine of an airplane was. Life has its weird way and I’ve learnt to never over think into it much nor object to its wise decisions.

 I’ll spare you the details of my sweaty knees and panicking through the landing and all the boring security processes of the airport of Poptropica. I love that town already from its name.  I got my raven black backpack and put it on my back since it was the only luggage I brought along and went on with my journey.

 As I stepped out into the cold atmosphere of Poptropica, I looked around slowly digesting my surroundings. I started shivering and rubbing my hands together as I looked up to the sky which was full of tumultuous, dark, ragged clouds. I noticed my breath forming into vapor each time I exhaled and I could tell my nose was as red as a pomegranate. I immediately regretted only bringing along one black coat and not many winter clothing.