What position are you?

It’s not like you haven’t made a valiant effort to snooze sandwiched among armrests, scratchy cushions and strangers. Flight after flight, you've tossed and turned in sheer desperation, but no Ostrich Pillow (or stiff drink) has landed you a little shut-eye. And so, wide awake with no sign of the sandman, you’ve resigned yourself to a sleepless life laced with envy & internal debates.

Arms crossed, knees bent, feet on the floor. You are those oh-so-fortunate flyers who can nod off sitting straight up — sometimes before the plane even takes off. You may may seem superhuman (and even a bit smug) perched on your cushion-cum-floatation-device thrones wearing a naptime look that says: ‘Reclined seats and neck pillows are for the weak.’

When you want to hit the hay, you hit the tray (table). You are resourceful rester, marching aboard your flight, flipping down that tray table, sometimes scrounging any semi-soft items nearby, and voila: a (not-quite-so-perfect) place to rest your weary head. You may miss out on most aeroplane meals, but you have been served a ready-made pillow for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

The petite get lucky. You’re small enough (and/or pliable enough) to somewhat-comfortably curl up – legs and all – even in cramped economy-class conditions. ). You tend to pick window seats, tuck yourselves into tiny balls and cosy up to the cabin wall. Flight attendants may as well tack an addendum onto your safety demo.

You sleepy spooners prefer to take your siestas in the (very) friendly skies locked at the lips, hips and/or fingertips. Heads resting on shoulders, shared blankets and pillows, a sleeping facial expression that makes it look like you’re about to jump up and lead fellow passengers in a lively rendition of “All You Need is Love”. After all, no obstacle shall keep you from holding tight to your beloved while catching some z’s.

You always come prepared, determined to bed down against all (uncomfortable) odds. Teeth brushed, glasses on, already clad in pyjamas and wearing slippers. You painstakingly carry out your plight to turn economy class seat into as much of a Lazy Boy lounger as humanly possible, collecting all pillows within arm’s reach, tucking yourselves in with the blanket provided & if there’s an amenity kit to be had, you’re digging through it, leaving no complimentary ear plug unturned.

My signature moves include claiming not one but two armrests as my own, reclining that seat as far back as it will go, propping my bare (and often crusty) feet up on the seat in front of me. The longer my slumber lasts, the more my extremities seem to drift across those invisible-but-oh-so-well-established aeroplane seat territory lines, taking up residence across an ever-increasing amount of cabin real estate.