Sometimes, surviving does not give us more time. It gives the time we have left a deeper meaning.
There are moments in life that do not end when the danger passes. They remain with us, quietly reshaping who we are, what we value, and how we see the world.
For me, the attack on Riyadh’s King Khalid International Airport was one of those moments.
What began as an ordinary day became a terrifying confrontation with the fragility of life. It brought me face to face with a truth we all understand in theory but rarely comprehend until death feels frighteningly close: Everything we take for granted can disappear in an instant.
I remember the explosions, the faces frozen in disbelief, the cries of the injured, and the overwhelming fear that filled the airport. Innocent lives were lost, others were wounded, and those of us caught in the chaos had no way of knowing whether we would make it out alive.
In those moments, everything I had considered important suddenly seemed insignificant.
The worries that had occupied my thoughts, the frustrations I had allowed to consume my energy, and the disagreements I had given more attention than they deserved, all faded into the background.
I realized how often we become so consumed by the business of living that we forget to appreciate life itself.
We exhaust ourselves over trivial matters. We hold on to resentment. We postpone forgiveness, expressions of love, and acts of kindness as though tomorrow is guaranteed.
But tomorrow is never promised.
What affected me most deeply, however, was not only the horror of the attack. It was witnessing, in the same place and at the same moment, the extraordinary contrast between human cruelty and human compassion.
Where some had sought to kill and destroy, others reached out to save.
I watched injured people set aside their own pain to help those who were suffering more. People who desperately needed assistance themselves found the strength to comfort, protect, and rescue others.
Their courage was not born of an absence of fear. They were frightened and wounded, just like everyone around them. Yet their instinct was to help.
It was a powerful reminder that even in humanity’s darkest moments, compassion can shine through.
In one place I witnessed how human beings can be responsible for taking lives, while others can become the reason those lives are saved.
That contrast will stay with me forever.
Amid the fear and confusion, I also witnessed the dedication of the authorities and airport personnel, whose swift response brought the situation under control and allowed us to evacuate within minutes.
I remain profoundly grateful to God for His protection and to those who worked to bring us to safety.
The evacuation may have taken only minutes, but those minutes felt like a lifetime.
They contained more fear, uncertainty, and reflection than I could have imagined possible.
When I finally walked out of the airport, I knew I had survived.
What I did not immediately understand was that something within me had changed.
Since that day, I have found myself reflecting on the seemingly insignificant details of everyday life.
The appointments we miss. The journeys we postpone. The delays that frustrate us. The unexpected changes to our plans.
How often do we complain about circumstances without knowing what they may have spared us?
As a person of faith, I believe there is wisdom in God’s plans, even when we cannot understand it.
A delay we consider an inconvenience may turn out to be a blessing. A path we never intended to take may lead us away from danger. Something we desperately wanted but never received may have been withheld for reasons we will never fully know.
We cannot see what awaits us around the next corner. We can only move forward with faith, gratitude, and humility.
But perhaps the most important lesson I took from this experience was about the legacy we leave behind.
Life is not measured simply by the number of years we live, the possessions we accumulate, or the achievements we celebrate.
It is measured by the difference we make in the lives of others.
By the kindness we offer when someone is struggling; by the forgiveness we extend when it would be easier to remain angry; by the comfort we provide to those in pain.
What value is there in everything we achieve if, in the end, we leave behind nothing but broken relationships and wounded hearts?
And what greater legacy could there be than to leave this world with someone remembering our kindness, someone grateful for our compassion, or someone offering a prayer in our memory?
The people I witnessed helping others at the airport may never know how profoundly their actions affected those around them.
But their humanity reminded me that even when faced with the possibility of death, we still have a choice about how we treat one another.
We can surrender to fear, or we can reach out to someone who needs us.
We can allow suffering to harden our hearts, or we can emerge from it more compassionate.
That is the choice I hope to carry with me.
I want to be quicker to forgive, slower to judge, and more generous with my time and affection.
I want to tell the people I love how much they mean to me, rather than assume they already know.
I want to stop giving so much importance to disagreements that, in the larger picture of life, mean so little.
And I want to remember that every ordinary morning, every conversation with someone I love, and every opportunity to do something good is a blessing.
My thoughts remain with the families who lost loved ones in the attack, with those recovering from their injuries, and with everyone who carries the emotional scars of what happened.
My gratitude for having survived is accompanied by sorrow for those who did not.
I pray that God grants mercy to the innocent lives lost, healing to the injured, comfort to grieving families, and peace to those still struggling with what they witnessed.
I also pray for the continued safety and security of Saudi Arabia, and for the men and women who dedicate themselves to protecting its people.
I am grateful for the government of Saudi Arabia for its swift response and continued commitment to protecting lives and ensuring the safety and security of all. I also pray for King Salman and Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman for their strength, and continued success in leading the Kingdom. May Saudi Arabia continue to enjoy peace, stability, security, and prosperity.
For those of us who survived, the challenge now is not simply to return to our routines. It is to ensure that what we experienced changes us for the better.
Before the attack, I understood survival as escaping death. Today, I understand it differently.
Survival is not only about being granted more years. It is also about being given the opportunity to live those years with a different heart.
A heart that recognizes blessings it once overlooked. A heart that finds forgiveness where it once held resentment. A heart that understands that our most precious possession is not our wealth, our status, or even our accomplishments, but the time we have left and what we choose to do with it.
I entered the airport that day believing I had another ordinary day ahead of me.
I left knowing that no day is ordinary, and none should ever be taken for granted.
Sometimes, surviving does not mean being given a longer life. It means being given a deeper understanding of the life we have left.
— Amal Shuqair is a survivor of the Oct. 10 attack at King Khalid International Airport in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.