02/24/26 The Scary Calm

I was flying, and the plane started shaking. Turbulent weather is common in winter in the Midwest. The surprising thing was that while others were panicking and I could clearly hear the commotion caused by the turbulence, I felt calm. I did not even open my eyes. I simply recited the kalma shahadat and felt a faint smile on my face.

Later, I found myself more concerned about this irrational calm of mine in the face of potential tragedy than the tragedy itself. What has happened? Where has my rationality gone? Do I want to die? And if I do, what is stopping me? It felt like time to overthink, to peel the layers off and examine them honestly.

I have always lived by the principle that one’s life is not just one’s own. Every loved one, whether family or friends, has a stake in it. Taking it away like that is not merely an easy way out. It is also selfish, in the sense that you steal what belongs partly to them. That belief has often kept me grounded.

And yet, there is another truth that refuses to stay quiet. What you feel, what you go through, the battles you fight, are faced by you and you alone. Others may care, but they cannot fully inhabit that inner war. When they fail to understand it, when they ask you to keep going without ever truly knowing what it costs you to do so, is that not selfish on their part as well?

If, out of some morphed sense of responsibility, you decide not to take this easy route out, for if it were not easy it would not tempt you more than facing the turmoil, then why should you not live every second honestly and allow it to end naturally? If by happenstance you sense that the end is near and you have done all that you believe you could, should that not bring contentment? Should that moment not warrant a sublime smile at the possibility of a final second?

I think it is justified.

But then again, what do I know