10 days ago, on 17 July 2014, in the early hours of the morning, Malaysians woke up to heartbreaking news -- Malaysia Airlines flight MH17 was shot down in Eastern Ukraine, all 298 people on board perished, no survivors. This is possibly the most devastating news the nation had heard since the mystery of flight MH370, which went missing from radars en route to Beijing, and was suspected to have crashed into the southern region of the Indian Ocean.
Two unfortunate mishaps in 4 months. Same airline. The odds of that happening must have been one in a million! And yet, it had happened. It was a day when Malaysians found themselves shaking their heads in disbelief, wondering why such misfortune befell them, even as they mourned for the many innocent lives that were taken away so abruptly.
I remember when I first heard the news. It was around 6.50am, and I was on my way to work. I decided to turn on the radio, and after a few minutes of advertisements or songs (I can't be sure), an announcer's voice came on, speaking in a solemn tone: "We at Mix FM offer our heartfelt condolences..." Having heard this line being played countless times before during the days after the disappearance of MH370, my mind instinctively began to complete the second half of the sentence "...to the family and friends of those onboard MH370", only this time, the announcer said "MH17" instead. I was confused for a second or two, wondering if he had made a mistake, or if I had heard wrongly, when it slowly dawned on me that it might have been another plane crash! My heart immediately sank... "Oh no, not again!" I whispered to myself, hoping against hope that there had been a mistake somewhere. 5 minutes later, the same sombre announcement was being played again, and this time, there was no mistaking it. It was MH17. Then, the 7 o'clock news came on with details of the crash.
By the time I reached school, everyone was talking about it. We felt sad for MAS, as the already struggling airline had suffered huge losses due to MH370, not to mention international criticism for their poor handling of the disaster, and now, another major crisis. My heart went out to them, and the many Malaysians who died in the crash. Later in the evening, my sorrow entered a whole new level when I received news that someone I knew was on that ill-fated plane. It was my ex-university coursemate, JC Ng Shi Ing. I had not met her since our graduation in 2003, but we had shared a huge part of our 4 years together as undergraduates in university, not just attending classes together, but even staying as neighbours in the same hostel in our first year. So naturally, the MH17 disaster became personal for me, and many of my ex-coursemates. Someone we knew died in the crash, together with her sister and her one-year-old son, Benjamin.
It was a day when the whole of Malaysia plunged into mourning, especially when the plane, and everyone in it, was just a victim of circumstances, of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The plane was in tiptop condition, the weather was fine, the pilots followed flight protocols, flying above restricted Ukrainian airspace, and yet, was still shot down by a missile. The people on board had become collateral damage of a war which did not concern them. But, there is nothing we can say nor do that can bring them back. I only hope that somehow, the horror of this disaster can open the eyes of the world to the cruelty of war, and inspire a stronger determination to foster peace, harmony and goodwill among humankind. RIP, crew and passengers of MH17, may God bless your souls.
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