I often dream that I’m flying. Not in a plane, not with wings—just me, floating freely, weightless among the clouds. These dreams always leave me with a smile on my face and a soft, silly sense of happiness that lingers long after I wake up. There’s something deeply peaceful about being up there, hovering above it all. In those moments, I feel light, fearless, and blissfully detached from the noise of everyday life and completely indifferent to all the humanity problems.

Flying in a hot air balloon has been on my bucket list forever. There’s something so romantic and old-worldly about it. If I were a man, I think that’s how I’d propose—soaring gently over a sleepy countryside, the world quiet beneath us, popping the question in the sky. Read more