As far as I can remember, apart from the numerous events during the Civil War 1991-95, was when my mother and I were going to Malta by plane. Just as we were rolling down the runway, nose in the air, something in the engine went loose and the engine shut down. Thankfully, we were able to stop before the end of the runway. I read many times about things like this, but I never thought I’d be in one.

On the way back, while approaching Zagreb a week later, we were flying through a thunderstorm that could very possibly tear a lighter plane apart. We were on the point of being diverted to another airport, but the pilot decided to ride through the storm and land. The turblence was strong, wind buffeting even stronger, the heart in my throat. Eventually, just as the gears touched the runway, a downpour as strong as I have ever seen it before came down. We landed in the nick of time.

It was to be my one of my first fully-solo flights. I usually had to be with an instructor, but when I accumulated enough flight hours, I was allowed to fly around the airfield without supervision to get a feel for the plane and build up confidence. The day started when I rolled up to the runway, already full of energy, happy, thrilled about finally being able to fly alone. The first thrill, always has been and always will be, is at takeoff, standing out on the runway with the engine on idle. I cannot explain it, but suddenly adding full throttle in one quick, decisive movement always thrilled me, the sudden strong acceleration, the roar of the engine, the blur of the propeller. It really made me feel as if I have all the power of the world at my fingertips.

Then, usually for a few minutes after takeoff, I usually don’t concentrate on how I feel; I ignore most of my bodily functions as I have to focus on the task of staying airborne and climbing to a certain altitude at which I can circle the airfield. As I level off and continue straight, I have enough time to focus on other things around me. That day, the weather was beautiful. As I climbed a mere 400 meters above the ground, I could see for more than a hundred kilometers in each direction; there was no fog, no clouds, only the heat haze in the distance. Had I climbed higher I would have possibly seen the Adriatic sea, almost 200 km away.

Watching this, looking down at the terrain rolling slowly beneath me, the cluster of buildings, Zagreb, behind me, the beautifully green mountain to my right. Suddenly, I realised something; I was alone here; I was really flying this thing, something I waited for for more than a decade; this bucket of bolts, the 100 horses up front, were at my command. My life-long dream came true, I was here. I was, literally, above it all. I was no longer bound to the ground. My head was a mix of emotions; pride, joy, happiness, euphoria. It gave me a new decisiveness, a new will to go on and pursue what I wanted – after all, I did it, I was here, I was 17.