It was a sign of comfort when the first airplane once again let its engine roar over my apartment on its way to the worlds which we assumed we would always be connected with. The elegant body of KL0429 to Dubai flowing against the clear evening sky, spreading its 747 metal wings with such elegance. To know that the world is once again connected, once again bustling with the movements of mind and cultures. That my flatmate can board his flight in South Africa and touch down tomorrow morning, here, in Amsterdam. The oddness of the city with no airplanes on the sky, the view from Oosterpark, with an ice-cream in my hand, was one of a clear sky without movement, without the white marks the airplanes paint the sky with as a reminder that we are a part of something bigger: the interconnectedness that has defined human evolution. Amsterdam had lost its sign of connectivity with the world. The feeling I always connected with the remoteness of my childhood in Sweden. The sense to not be apart, but outside, the world. The comfort of that first airplane, with the coming of the world we’ve grown to love and define.