Yesterday it became known that the co-pilot of the German Wings airplane which crashed in the mountain of southern France, has probably commtited suicide.
Well, if you can call this suicide. I'd rather call it murder. If you take along 149 people because you want to end your life, then you are a murderer in my point of view.
I've never been able to understand suicide. All members of our family have grown up in an atmosphere where it was - and is - important to fight against adversity. If you have a problem, discuss it with others and try to find a solution. Nobody has ever had a mental illness. My grandparents had to live through two world wars and arrived in dangerous circumstances. They valued life more than ever. My father grew up in a family where both the father and mother drank themselves to death, so he had to take care of his younger siblings. He fought for a better life for them and himself, and for his own daughters nothing was ever good enough.
So I can't imagine how it feels not to see a solution - for there always is one, if you go looking for it. 'No mountain high enough, or you can climb it,' grandma used to say. That goes for many things.
Psychologists are already looking for excuses for this cowardly deed of the co-pilot. 'People can have tunnel-vision, they don't know what they are doing...." Rubbish! We have been given a mind of our own, so we decide. But people who commit suicide don't think about others. Why could this German guy not take some pills, if he wanted out? Or hang himself in his garage? What weird pleasure did he find in taking along 149 innocents???