imagine you were the lone survivor of an air crash. it took you a week to make your way though hostile territory to reach the nearest village . discuss the difficulties you face and feeling when you reached the village essays

Explanation:

My head is light. The plants around me are radiant. I do not feel the pain any longer. I am both out of my body and close to my body. I have left, but I am present.

Darkness is mixed with brightness, the day with the night. I feel as protected as I possibly can be. I have surrendered myself completely. To the trees, the leaves, the crickets, the ants, the centipedes, life. Or is it to death I have surrendered? I am within the moment. A timeless moment of ecstatic freedom. A moment that gives me peace, unity and joy.

That was my near-death experience on my penultimate day in the Vietnamese jungle — eight days after the plane I was on crashed into a remote mountain ridge. Although seriously injured, I was the only survivor. The other 29 passengers and crew all perished.

After that, I tried to move. Shifting even an inch was agony. But I tried not to dwell on my suffering and focused on what I could achieve, rather than what I could not.

Over the following days, I concentrated on my survival. What alternative did I have? I painfully pulled myself around a small section of the wreckage, dragging my body by my elbows.

My main goal was drinking water to stay hydrated, something I did by collecting rainwater in small sponges. I fashioned the sponges from insulation I found near the shattered wing of the plane. Standing up to retrieve the insulation was torture, and putting one foot in front of the other impossible. I wrung the moisture from the sponges into my mouth. In a vain attempt to stay dry, I wore a blue plastic poncho I’d found in someone’s pack. But I didn’t take anything from anyone else. It didn’t seem appropriate.

As for emotions, I realized I couldn’t cry because crying makes you weak. I knew that if I started, I would give up.

Instead I stayed in the now. I listened to my heart and instinct, and not to my mind, because the mind makes up stories that can frighten you.

But then, suddenly, I heard the sound of cracking wood. On the other side of the ravine was a man in an orange hood. I wondered whether he was real or a phantom. Some version of St. Peter? I waved frantically. “Hello? Can you help me?” He just stared at me and stayed motionless. Then he was gone.

The orange man, a local policeman, turned out to be my savior. The authorities were looking for me. And although he first thought I was a ghost  he’d never seen a white woman before  he raised the alarm. The following day I was rescued by a team of Vietnamese workers. They had body bags with them, thinking that nobody could possibly have lived.

Next, I was airlifted to a City before being transferred to a hospital in Singapore. I was surrounded by family and friends who had flown in from Holland and other parts of the world. They’d naturally feared I was dead when they heard about the crash.

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