JUNE 23 — Plane crashes never fail to remind people of the frailty of human life and the misery of those who mourn. Whether the victims sat in first class or economy, there is no difference. In the case of Air France 447, it brought to mind a past incident closer to home.
Wednesday, Dec 3, 1997, 7am: I am awakened by my own scream. Bathed in a cold sweat, I sit up in bed and fearfully ponder the reality of my dream. That morning, I dreamt of myself in a life jacket... in a plane which had just crashed into a body of water. Like a game show, the final moments are played back three times, as if in a vain attempt to find an alternative ending.
Frantically I dash up and down the cabin trying to find an escape route. Windows won't break and emergency exit doors do not budge. The dream comes to an inconclusive end during the third playback when the plane starts to sink in the water. The dream is so real that I shudder at the thought of the 13-hour flight home that I will be taking three days later. For the next three days, I desperately think of ways to avoid flying.
On Dec 6, I arrive at the airport with a busload of friends but we are 10 hours too early for my night flight. Upon arrival, I head straight to the ATM to withdraw cash as part of my escape plan. To my dismay, I discover a zero balance in my student account. Reality sinks in. The choice is either living at the airport terminal or continuing the vacation in the city... both are not viable without any money! Without an alternative, I check in. Each passing minute of those 10 hours felt like an hour, and an hour-like eternity. The fear of my impending doom increased by the second. In the absence of choices, I board the aircraft.
The "fasten seat belt" sign kept me seat-bound for a large part of the journey. The aircraft appeared to be flying through perpetual clouds and storms, resulting in constant turbulence. Each jolt amplified my fear and jangled my weakened nerves. Those 13 hours were spent in prayer imploring the powers-that-be for a safe trip.
The eventual approach and arrival into Singapore remains one of the most unforgettable flight experiences to date. Singapore was deep in the throes of the Asian financial crisis and suffering a record-breaking haze. The turbulence had lifted prior to the approach and it was a rare clear day with blue skies. As the plane flew over the coast, I could see the entire Singapore skyline. From the buildings of Shenton Way to the residential compounds that dotted the way and finally Changi Airport itself. It was a beautiful sight to behold. Touchdown brought the greatest relief which lasted less than two weeks.
On the evening of Dec 18, 1997, I was gripped by the same inexplicable fear and a reminder of my nightmare. On the morning of Dec 20, I emerged from my bedroom to see the newspapers lying face down on the coffee table. Instantly I knew what the headlines would be. The 10-metre walk to the papers felt like the green mile. Flipping over The Straits Times felt surreal. Silk Air 185 had crashed into the Musi River on the afternoon of the 19th, killing 104. Reading the numerous articles that day I felt many different emotions: relief which gradually gave way to pain, then sorrow and finally tears for those who perished and the many more left to mourn their loss.
As the days went by, more and more stories about the passengers on the doomed flight emerged. Like Air France 447, some had fought and argued their way onto the flight while others had a narrow escape by missing it completely. Air France had a couple who were just about to retire while Silk Air had a Bosnian on her maiden trip overseas. Silk Air 185 had a high-ranking American Express executive aboard and a well-known Singaporean model who cryptically wrote "Heaven can wait but I can’t." Air France had royalty and senior management from the South American division of Michelin tyres onboard. Each accident had their share of young children involved.
Experts are now rushing to determine the cause of the Air France crash. By analysing the pattern of injuries on the retrieved corpses and their discovery coordinates in the ocean in relation to their cabin seating arrangements, they hope to establish whether the aircraft had disintegrated in mid-air. Through assessing the debris they hope to uncover the location of the black boxes. Narrowing down the search for the needles in the vast haystack that is now the ocean. Infant or retiree, royalty or commoner, they all perished.
Theories are aplenty. Did the pitot tubes malfunction? Was the weather to blame? Like Silk Air, the final investigation results may be inconclusive due to conflicting or insufficient evidence. Yet the investigations will continue as a precautionary measure to prevent further incidences and in hopes of making the sky a safer way to travel.
Air France and the plane's manufacturers may soon face an onslaught of legal cases lodged by kinsmen of the dead. Whatever results the investigations yield, it will always be insignificant when compared to the human cost of the accident. Much like my dream, the passengers of Air France 447 spent their final moments in agony and fear; screaming and knowing that death was imminent. Yet in death it is not the dead who suffer but the living. Their loved ones will have to live with incomplete answers for the rest of their lives.
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I particularly enjoyed the first paragraph which really shows how, once stripped of wealth and possessions, we are all equal.
My condolences go to all the families of the passengers of Air France 447.
Will be looking forward to reading more articles from you.