I never thought my life would be measured in flight hours and time zones, but here I am — a flight attendant based in Qatar, living between the sky and the desert. People imagine it’s glamorous, and sometimes it is, but most days it’s something more unexpected: surreal.
My journey begins long before boarding. It starts in the crew terminal in Doha — a place where 100 nationalities gather, all wearing the same uniform, but carrying different stories. We greet each other in accents that fill entire continents. Arabic, Filipino, French, Swahili — all blending into a single rhythm. That’s the real magic of this job.
Once I walk onto the aircraft, my identity shifts. I become the calm voice during turbulence, the reassuring smile for nervous flyers, the quiet witness to thousands of private human moments.
I’ve seen a proposal at 37,000 feet.
A grandmother flying for the first time — holding my hand during takeoff.
A family whispering prayers as they flew home after years apart.
And then there’s the world beyond the cabin door.
Layovers are nothing like people think. Yes, I’ve watched the sunrise from a rooftop in Barcelona. But I’ve also slept 12 hours straight in a blackout-curtained hotel room because fatigue hits harder than jet lag.
Doha is my anchor. I come home to desert heat, the call to prayer echoing at dawn, and the strange peace of knowing I live in a place most people only see during airport transits.
What keeps me in the sky?
Maybe it’s the feeling of walking down the aisle before landing, seeing a cabin full of people with stories I’ll never know — but helped carry safely.
Or maybe it’s this:
Every time I look out the aircraft window at night, the clouds glow like quiet oceans, and the cities twinkle beneath us like constellations.
And I think —
How lucky am I to call the world my workplace?