I arrived here in Manila a few minutes past nine yesterday morning--that is, a few minutes after the worst flight I've had so far. The jitters started when something went wrong in the plane's belly just as we were exiting the pre-departure area. We were held back from entering the plane to allow maintenance crew to see what's wrong. The tweaking took more than 15 minutes. That's okay, though. I couldn't risk my safety by having the airplane folks comply to their company's rarely-true slogan about being on time.

So that was the appetizer. I got to taste real fear when the aircraft shook violently in the middle of a smooth-as-glass cruise at 30,000+ feet above sea level. That was after reading Fr. Jerry Orbos' column about death in the Inquirer. Soon, we were into a series of turbulence, stronger this time and with threats of free-falling.

Yes, I was quite scared. Not so much of the pain that might accompany my collision with the earth, but of the certainty of eternal damnation once I died. I had sinned quite gravely and I was anxious to go to confession. I know I was being too paranoid during the flight, thinking about a plane crash and about a column I deemed to be an omen. But now I realize that that paranoia was proof of an increased "soul consciousness". I dread hell, not death.

I used to enjoy turbulence (mid-flight tremors usually caused by clouds). I couldn't deny the thrill of seeing gray clouds whizzing by the window while the aircraft is experiencing a violent "air-quake". You know, the thrill of the thought of plummeting towards earth and then surviving the crash and then getting famous.

When I prayed harder, the fear subsided and the thrill came back.