Navigating the Great Blue Yonder

And so the term break disappears behind me, the future screams towards me at an accelerating rate and the present is really just a haze, like a watercolour painting which has water accidently spilled on it, or like a really bad day with a PSI of 150.

Of course, this phenomenon isn't just restricted to any particular event like the term break. There's always this feeling of anticipation, trepidation when you see an upcoming event approach your horizon. You enjoy yourself, you tire yourself out, you find yourself being disappointed with some of the activities. And then it's over. You look back, and it's a blur; like you are travelling forward, but the events don't move back relative to you, they just clump together behind you, caught in some turbulent maelstorm, between the forces of new experiences and old memories.

Everyone would try to shift their feet against the rudder pedals, to bring certain events into their respective horizons. Some steer based on a pre-flight detailed plan. Others taste the wind and steer where their gut feeling tells them to go. Yet others have a vague idea on certain landmarks they want to see, and try to get there based on vague directions they gather from vague sources.

Sometimes, these flyers happen to head towards the same target area, aiming to achieve the same objective. They then begin to fly in squadron level; the sure leading the unsure, the unconfident flying in support position, the leaders attempting to find the best route towards the common target area.

Fortune favours the bold, or the well prepared. When flying over the target area, these are the people who stay calm under heavy flak. And the sorry sods who fly through this flak with only the vaguest idea of where they are and what they're doing end up being overwhelmed by all the action around them that they might end up spilling tears over their stick, rudders and throttle.
And amongst the bold and the well prepared are a special breed of pilots: the guardian angels. Seeing a fellow pilot crying at the controls, these people play supportive roles, weaving around the formation, drawing the flak gunners' attention on themselves, scattering enemy interceptors with cannon bursts, flying beside the nervous wreck and talking him out of his rut. The squadron achieves its objectives, they break formation and head towards new personal targets. Some of them may meet up later on as part of another squadron.

The guardian angels also fly their own way, helping other nervous wrecks over some other target area. They fly on tirelessly, making sure that other pilots live to fight another day. The world needs more guardian angels. -Jimmy