Where is Earhart: The First Woman Trouble appeared elusive when a Lockhead Electra airplane took off into the sky over the Pacific. Amelia Earhart, the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean, was at the controls; she was with Fred Noonan. They had a plan- to fly 4,113 km from Papua New Guinea to Howland Island in the South Pacific Ocean.The execution transpired July 2, 1937; it was the last time of them being seen.According to U.S. Coast Guard, she announced running low on fuel. Hence, there is an assumption her plane crashed into the ocean. Some own the creed that she and Noonan lived as castaways before their death. –Almanac, 2014. Every time something is missing, our psyches mull over the question where it is. It is human nature to seek for it and disclose the enigma behind its abrupt departure. I can bestow upon Earhart’s family my sincerest empathy for I know how it feels to lose something, to bid goodbye to someone suddenly. I am on the process. My entire being concedes that that it makes me tremble. The cold shoulder of unexpected separation appears to own no conclusion. Unbearable it is; thus, to endure is a torture. I can heed into the tick tock of the clock for seconds of waiting for that something, that someone to recur is exorbitantly silent. The sound of its hands is bullet of gun murdering my sanity quietly. Moreover, the crimson shafts of sunrise do not offer hope. They make me despondent instead for they create another day without her. Its commencement is similar with Earhart and Noonan’s. The sky was clear.Therefore, I foretold a triumphant journey. And it was for my emotional airplane reached cloud nine. My lips always curved into a smile every time she began saying I love you. I always replied I love you more. And the constant terminus was her saying I love you so much more. Now,I neither find for the more nor for the so much. My ears are solely longing for her saying she loves me. But, I can be happy even without her words. All I need is her head resting on my shoulder or her hands holding mine. “Where are her sweet nothings?” My ears ask. “Where is her love?” My heart is puzzled. It is a painful riddle as Earhart’s. My psyche cannot accept that her feelings crashed into the ocean of tears which was produced by my irresponsible, selfish love. I cannot accept that I am culpable of her choice to live in a remote island, to flee from me, to go away from my self- centered ways. “Where is she, the first woman whom I love so much,” this is the inquiry of my ear… heart.
Posted on: Sat, 30 Aug 2014 00:42:44 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015