The MJ Effect

So on Monday, I was on this huge plane coming back to Atlanta and we were about to take off when the engine exploded.
At first, the pilot lied and said that it was a blown tire. Then three seconds later after he called the technician, he announced that the engine exploded and that we had to get off the plane.
If I could have only taken a picture of the looks of the other passengers when they heard that engine go bust. As with any flight, the passengers of the flight came from all walks of life. But on Monday they all wore the same expression: a mixture of fear and this other look that read "Please God, kill my neighbor and not me!"
After I got off of the plane I was so shaken. If the plane would have taken off, we all would have been toast. That second as I stood in LAX with my laptop bag and purse after leaving the plane, I realized that I could have died. That that would have been it. That moment as I aimlessly began to follow the other passengers to the information desk, I could have either been burning to death or already dead, my soul taking a comfortable stroll to Hell where liars and people with lustful hearts such as myself reside after they kick the can.
Once I was in the information line, I began to call and text my friends to tell them what happened and of course, only one person texted me back. Later they would call me and tell me that they were in class or at work or taking a shit or whatever they were doing that was so time-consuming that they couldn't answer the goddamn phone. And they would have still been doing that task after I was dead. As I waited for my turn for a flight agent to give a rubber apology for what happened, I realized that had I had died, life would have gone on. Life will go on after I die. The people closest to you will get over it, and some of them won't give a shit. I don't know. It's something that you always know, but it hit me Monday like a ton of bricks at LAX in the information line.
After getting the information on my next flight, I seriously thought about Michael Jackson for the first time. On Wednesday before he had a cardiac arrest, he was probably at home or doing his usual King of Pop stuff, not thinking about death, and clearly not pondering over how is was going to die the next day. He probably had tasks planned throughout the week.
That night in the hotel room that the airline had set up for me, I sat up awake on the bed looking at the ceiling. Still, none of my friends had returned my call and I was beginning to feel dizzy. I had never felt so alone and shitty. I thought about all the times I had been depressed and actually asked God to kill me; all those times in middle school when I had actually tried to kill myself. I felt like an asshole.
Now I am at home and still thinking about it. Needless to say, the whole thing has been a wake-up call, so much of one that I have not been able to get to sleep. But at least I am still alive and I have to tell you, I have never been so aware of this fact.