I embark the aircraft deep in my thoughts. As if I were an automatom, I make my way to my seat, make myself comfortable and close my eyes. I cannot stop thinking that aviation is LIFE and everything that I love.

Perhaps it is an excuse for not seeing my daughters grow up, realising its due to seeing them so little. I cannot play with them now as they are women. Nevertheless I love my work and continue thinking that aviaion is LIFE.

Who has not been in an airport at some time and realised that the building made of iron and cement is alive and never sleeps. Its blood is the thousands of humans of different races, who for a short time live together there.

Aviation is LIFE, says a beautiful little girl on her death bed, in the most inhospitable corner of the earth. The father whispers to his daughter “before long you will be playing like before; the iron bird will arrive with your salvation, and you will then be better”.

Aviation is LIFE because its roots are watered by the blood of many. There are so many that when I count them it makes me sad as many friends are amongst them.

If so many have given their blood for it, why should I not give it my life.