On the plane to Cairo

It only sank in when Dewan Pemuda Masjid Malaysia secretary Sahlan Saruddin asked us, during our briefing session on the day of our departure,whether we would be bringing along bulletproof vests.
Sahlan, who is familiar with the area, seemed genuinely concerned about our safety in Gaza despite the fact that a ceasefire had been declared between Hamas and the Israeli forces.
"I may actually die,"I thought to myself. It was a sobering thought.Prior to this, it had been all about bravado (false or not, I don't know!). I had playfully whined about how I was only a ceasefire correspondent and not a real war correspondent. I joked that my bosses were sending me on a one way ticket because of how I kept gloating about Man Utd's ascendancy over their beloved Liverpool and Chelsea.
But now, as the journey is beginning and I'm sitting in the plane to Cairo, the realisation is dawning, in vivid Technicolour, that this isn't a joke or a jaunt.
If I do have the misfortune of being killed, it would be just one of many lives lost in this brutal and horrifying conflict. It would be nothing remarkable or noteworthy when the countless other tragedies taking place here every day are taken into account.
But, as I reflected further, I realised that in the midst of all this terrible bloodshed, or perhaps because of it, we can also see great love in all its forms and incarnations.
Volunteers risking their lives to help total strangers. Palestinian students and workers around the globe worried sick and doing all they can to assist their families and friends back home. The millions worldwide, including Jews, who have come out in force to condemn the atrocities of this lopsided war. The many who donated their money freely, like one of my colleagues who gave up all the prize money he won for his work.
Love all around. Anger and fury at the needless violence, yes. A sense of tragedy and loss at the thousands of sacrificed lives, yes. Empathy for their suffering, yes. But, I think, all stemming from love and caring, often for nameless and faceless strangers.
I too felt loved. My Facebook page and email were flooded with friends offering sage bits of advice and admonitions to keep my head down and not try to 'be a hero'. One buddy took me aside and grilled me on the safety measures I took and should have taken. Another called me on the phone and cried as she said goodbye to me. One took time off to send me off. Another wrote me a letter, which she told me to only open when I reached Egypt (I couldn't stand the suspense, so I opened it on the plane!). My parents who, though obviously worried, tried to seem nonchalant about it all. And the many others who prayed for my safety.
Love, to quote a very corny song, is all around. It's just sad that we usually wait until the last minute (or worse, until it's too late) to show it.
I wonder if all those victims had a chance to be told that they were loved. I wonder if the Israeli soldiers killed in battle had time to tell their families that they loved them.
And I wonder why, if love is truly all around, we so readily give in to hate and fight so often...