New gate, same solo me

I made my way to the airport just like I have in the past eight years — on my own. All alone. And I’d make my way to my final destination the same way. In the beginning of everything, I would get dropped off and picked up. I had so many eyes on me. I felt so supported and protected. It went on for a good while. It’s not like I couldn’t take myself to the airport because I always did when I had to. That was one of the easiest parts after moving away from family and friends — being independent, getting myself to places. But on days when no one could meet me at the airport, it would rip through me for whatever reason. That was back then.

Let me say, though, that sometimes we say “whatever reason” when we know exactly why it happened that way. Truth is you don’t quite learn how to articulate your emotions on your first experience. I was out there alone (without a return ticket) for the first time and everyone seemed to care. That was nice to know on down days. They wanted to know about my whereabouts, about my safety, about the dates I’d be coming back home. I thought it was the standard. Then, suddenly, no one is around and you can’t help feeling “abandoned.” In hindsight, it might have been pity or… OK, I think people might’ve just felt bad about me and that’s why they never left me alone. In spite of the real reason, it felt good to feel loved and supported.  

Fast-forward to a few years later, however, alone turned into everything I knew; eating alone, sleeping alone, traveling alone…all the way. My solitude became a way of life for me, my way of reenergizing, and I actually liked it. I gradually stopped hearing from 90% of the people who always wanted to hear from me, who wanted to know how I was doing, if I had eaten, if I needed a ride to the airport. And, the one person who always checked on me no matter what, wasn’t cognitively present anymore. 

I didn’t feel the weight right away, but it was hard not to notice the absence, especially upon arriving at yet another Baggage Claim with no waiting families or friends. 

As someone who gave up owning a car years ago, ride-sharing became my saving grace. In fact, I wondered if other people used ride-share as hard as I did (only to find out I was not even close to being a faithful rider). 

Anyhow, I’m writing this tonight, not to bring awareness to ride-sharing apps or to tell you how lonely traveling, err, alone can be BECAUSE IT ISN’T always the case. I’m writing this because my most recent experience in the air was so extraordinary I feel like I must tell the story. It is about something that has been in the back of my head for a while — how would my last moments on earth unravel? What will I be doing? Will I feel pain? 

Morbid, but stay with me.

I have had too much time to wonder, what if something happened to me? Because I’m almost always alone. In this city, at my new place (which address no one yet knows), or on this flight — I wondered in real time — that no one knows I’m on or where I’m going? If something did happen to me, when (if) will my people find out?

Last month, I think I realized exactly what would happen: no one would come for me right away. I’d be the last body to be claimed.  

For the first time in all the years I’ve been flying, I was on a flight that did a “go-around” — an apparent safety procedure I had not much knowledge of. As we were just about to land, the plane took right off. We were so close tot he ground, that people already had their hands on their seatbelts to unbuckle themselves as soon as we landed. And I actually had a ride waiting this time, of all times, so I was getting ready to tick off Airplane Mode on my phone so that I could text my friend.

We weren’t given a reason for the go-around at first. Nonetheless, with everything that’s been happening in the US with the FAA since late 2024, I think fear took over all of us on board. We knew the weather was bad. An hour or so earlier, we went through the worst turbulence I’ve ever experienced. It was ravaging. It was turbulence on steroids. there was the usual tension in the air; people holding on tight to their seats, some were visibly shaken and going into panic mode, and others were just laughing and enjoying the “rollercoaster” ride. Me? I kept reading the book in my hand and doing my best to stay distracted, even though, deep down, I feared I could not at least be able to send out a text with an explanation.  

As we lifted through the air again on an attempted landing, a lot of passengers started fainting and vomiting. I might’ve caught someone praying, his head down. There was mostly silence. There was not even an immediate word by the pilot. It was quite the quiet chaos. I tried to focus on breathing and on the book I was reading. To my surprise, as tension rose,  I remained suspiciously calm and even helpful and useful to my neighbors. 

The air might’ve become thicker figuratively,  but for a young boy who was having a panic attack and couldn’t breathe, it was very real. After trying various techniques, his helpless mother started crying. I think that’s pretty much when I, too, understood the reality of the moment. My very own nurturer instinct kicked in. As I teared up, I closed my book and grabbed a guide from the backseat of the person in front of me and started fanning the boy, who by then was alarmingly pale and gasping for air. Honestly, he looked like he’d be gone. I could hear and feel the terror in the mother’s voice.

To be clear, I had never gone through something like that midair, so I didn’t know how to react. I didn’t seek for a way to be in that moment; I just was…myself. I’d always thought I’d be the first one to pass out in a distressful situation, since I am no fan of flying, but turns out I’m a pretty good “paramedic.” I took care of my neighbors, the one to my left and one to my right. 

I was proud of myself for handling it well, but I couldn’t help wondering, is this it? 

I had no WiFi connection and no way of texting or calling anyone, so that part got me momentarily blue. Turns out I would like to be heard from right away if something goes wrong. My arms are an anchor to so many, but most times I find myself reaching for emptiness. I feared this was yet another empty moment. I am someone who cares so deeply about the people I love, and the well-being of humans in general, especially if I know they’re going through a vulnerable time, that I can’t even fathom the lack of reciprocity. I never ask for anything in return, but I do want reciprocity. I want and deserve the same love I give, given to me.

And the older I get and the more I see the decay in humanity, the more I hope that when my time comes, as someone who moves around quite a bit, that there is someone to claim me right away. I hope there is someone who notices my absence right away. I hope it doesn’t take long…I can only hope. 

Independence has its pros and cons, I guess. And sometimes, too much of it pushes others away, to the point where no one is there when you need them. That day, though, after the scare and finally a safe landing, there was someone waiting for me — and I had never been happier to see a familiar face pick me up at the airport.