Landing in Jamaica
I was promised a powder-puff landing. That’s what my friend Bruce said we’d have in Jamaica – wheels down, puff, puff, touchdown. What happened instead was one of the most terrifying descents I’ve ever experienced – complete with a woman two rows back, loudly making her peace with God, and praying for deliverance. Shell shocked – I started to doubt “the powder puff” landing was really a thing until I heard a mother in the immigration line, point to her children and say, “they’ll never know, they’ll never experience a powder puff.” I may never know either. The machete landing as my sister called it – chop, chop , scream – I could safely cross off my list. Still, the end was the same – we were in Jamaica. Read more
hungry sofia 