After a three hour stop over in Singapore, I am feeling patriotic. The seat belt neon has flickered off I am neck deep in my first Singapore sling at sunset. The sky is candy pink, so is my drink. There are snow white clouds drifting slowly past the plane, bobbing around like ice cubes amidst the sky’s cocktail. “Get off of my Cloud” by The Rolling Stones is playing through my earphones and I’m on cloud ninety-nine. The planes arms are stretched out wide and I want to stretch mine out too because I’m soaring. I have a sick feeling in my stomach and I’m trying to hide my smile because I’m afraid of the French lady next to me feeling suspicious. The plain is hovering over Ho Chi Minh City and there are trillions of little illuminated beads. My nose is pressed against the window like a child and I don’t care about the French lady anymore because this is my affirming moment. Yes. Finally the world is under my heels.