After almost losing my life, and coming close to losing multiple loved ones within the span of twelve days, I became deeply reflective.
Death missed me by inches in a car accident. A bullet missed the heart of someone I love by an inch. A knife missed the artery and the spine of another by less than that.
These events occurred across different continents. The people, cultures, and circumstances were unrelated. Yet each incident revealed a distinct and meaningful cause.
The car accident came down to recklessness: a driver's moment of negligence.
The shooting reflected the kind of life one is forced or chooses to live.
The stabbing was inseparable from the conditions of a country shaped by poverty and social fracture.
I am grateful that all of us survived. But survival alone does not dissolve meaning. These near misses feel less like coincidence and more like instruction; a demand to notice, to learn, and to take responsibility for how choices, systems, and environments quietly determine who is placed in danger. Cultivating one's environment toward intended outcomes matters.
This was not a warning of death. It was a lesson about life. I did not freeze when these events unfolded; I acted and took control. Knowing that I can remain clear and do what is necessary in moments like these gives me confidence. Not reacting, but responding.
After the accident, I ran to my SAT exam center. I had called the police, been thrown by the impact, and hit my head, and still, I ran. While moving, one question stayed with me: why didn't I say anything to the driver when I saw the other car coming? Multiple and not so pleasing thoughts came into mind.
As these thoughts moved through my mind, I checked my head for bleedings while time continued to pass. I tried to focus on the questions in front of me as flashbacks surfaced. From the accident, and from another incident when I was a child. We were attacked, and at that age I could do nothing but watch as we were harassed.
A few hours later, still questioning myself, I understood what those thoughts were doing. They were my mind's way of regaining control of the narrative, because helplessness is something I resist deeply. What connected these moments was not helplessness, but contrast. Then, I had no control. Now, I do. This time, when the other driver approached us aggressively after the crash, I stood my ground and slowly walked towards his. Be kind, kids, be kind...