Stood on the rooftop of another temporary home, my colleague explains to me how planes work. He blows across the top of a wrinkled bank note and watches in delight as it lifts to reveal his chin. He tells me aerodynamics are all about creating varying levels of pressure against the mass of the object that you’re trying to lift.
As I watch planes take off into the Iraqi air, against the backdrop of a sky stained orange by a sun that has chosen to retire for the day, his physics lesson fades from my mind. Years of my life spent on planes and all I know is that they’ve still yet to find a way to take me home.