One of the things I always enjoyed, which sadly stopped, was flying. From the ages of 6 to 13, every Saturday, or sometimes Friday, my dad and I would go to the nearby airport – just a little smaller than Hagerstown Regional – and fly. My father had his pilot's license, and after the price increased significantly, we had to stop. In general, I hated college – stealing was my way out. I was my father's co-pilot. I still know how to make radio calls, and once the plane was in the air I had a basic understanding of what to do. It was called the Royal Selangor Flying Club. I remember everything; the appearance, the things I heard, the things I felt and even the smell. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why Violent Video Games Should Not Be Banned”? Get an original essay As we walk toward the parking lot, my heart is beating almost fast enough to jump out of my chest. I barely slept the night before – I was and am too excited. As we walk down the road, 4 or more planes are lined up. Today is the day I see another plane landing and parked. To me, there was nothing more magnificent than seeing planes lined up, ready to fly. As inanimate as they were, I felt like these machines had personalities in the air and on the ground. I had the impression that they were looking at us and asking each other: “Who is going to fly today”? A few meters away is the track, covered with more and more tire tracks. When you jump high enough, you can see the Kuala Lumpur skyline. Oh Kuala Lumpur, the land where I grew up and which I miss so much. Before boarding the plane, the smell of AV gas tickles my nose. I climb to the top of the plane, holding on to the wing post. I check the oil: if the smell didn't tickle my nose, the oil didn't need to be changed. I smelled new oil. I slowly start to move my face away from the oil faucet and I smell a mixture of odors. I smell burning rubber and the smell of city air – certainly the most overwhelming. The airport was on a highway and I can barely smell a faint smell of gasoline and diesel coming from all the cars. I get off the wing and open the plane door. In my experience, you could open the door and the smell of vomit, cigarettes, or a brand new air freshener would dominate, or even all three. But luckily we received the brand new air freshener – it will be one of the reasons why our flight will be pleasant. All you hear are the sounds of the wind blowing loudly in your ears, the screech of tires hitting the tarmac so suddenly, and the firing of one of the other planes' engines. If you stood close enough, you could hear the propeller cutting through the space in front of you. With the slight slam of the door and the click of the seat belt, all we hear next is absolute silence. My father lowers the dial of one of the buttons; soon we hear the sound of the flaps on the wings. You hear them whirring and end with a subtle click that returns to its place. My dad yells out the window, “CLEAR AN ACCESSORY!” With those 3 words, I knew it was time to start the engine. “Voom, voom, VOOM” says the propeller, as it continues to spin endlessly until we decide it is time to stop. As we shout at the top of our lungs – just to communicate where we're going – we quickly realize we need our headphones. We start to approach the end of the runway – the plane turns and stops. By slowly pressing the accelerator, the propeller.