17th of July

July 17th. For so many people, a pitch black day ever since 2014. July 17th, the day MH17, with 298 people on board, was shot out of the sky. From one moment to the next, their lives were over. Leaving the loved ones behind in intense grief, devastation, and emptiness.

That day I was on my way to Dubai; back then I was still flying as a stewardess. In my section I had a number of passengers who had been overbooked onto the MH17 flight, but were now flying with us via Dubai to Kuala Lumpur instead. Mr. X was one of these passengers; I still remember him very well. Despite having been given an upgrade to Business Class, he kept saying throughout the trip how annoying the overbooking was, and that the stopover in Dubai was miserable too. "Come on, man," I thought. "Ideal it isn't, I get that, but hey, you're on holiday and it starts right here in Business Class with bubbles. It could be worse, let's say."

In Dubai, after all the passengers had disembarked, we stood waiting in the arrivals hall for the last crew members. Suddenly we heard a cry that truly went through the marrow of our bones. It came from Mr. X, collapsing in front of a large TV screen showing the first reports about MH17. The flight he was actually supposed to have been on. At that moment the messages came in on my phone too: H and F were gone.

Yesterday afternoon I walked by the MH17 memorial. I often walk there. Many local residents do too; it has truly become part of the village. It's beautiful there. Peaceful. There are 298 trees, and by each tree a name plate with the age of the deceased as well. So many people. In the prime of their lives. What would have become of them if... H was 38 then, F had just turned 50. Back then I was H's age. But now I'm F's age. That realization did sink in for a moment...

I looked at the candles, placed by all the little trees for the commemoration ceremony. But what was written on the lids? For the life of me I couldn't read it. Couldn't read it anymore, I mean, really. Because my reading glasses, which for me symbolize aging and complete decline, tucked away deep in my bag, now really had to come into play after all. "In memory there is no goodbye," it said. As I let that sentence sink in, I suddenly felt a mega dose of gratitude in my heart. "Goodness, San, what an incredible lucky duck you actually are, that you get to wear those silly reading glasses." Because I know for sure that H would have given anything for this...