Sky King and The Fool

For generations, Turkish bakeries have practised a quiet revolution in human kindness called Askıda Ekmek which translates to Bread on a Hanger.

The concept is beautifully simple: When you buy a loaf of bread, you can pay for an extra loaf. The baker will then hang it on a hook somewhere for anyone who needs it. Someone in need simply walks into the bakery and asks, "Is there bread on the hanger?"

What makes Askıda Ekmek extraordinary isn't just the act itself but that the entire exchange is anonymous. There’s no record of it. No receipt, no message…no recognition whatsoever. The donor simply pays for the bread and walks away, trusting that the baker will hang it and someone who needs it will find it.

The recipient doesn’t have to prove they're deserving, share their story, or grovel for help. They don't carry the weight of owing someone or the shame of being seen as charity. They accept the kindness with humility while maintaining their dignity.

And the baker? The Baker sees without revealing nor judging. They hold the space where generosity meets need. Where one person’s surplus becomes another’s sustenance. A silent witness to a thread that holds a community together.

The Receipts

Modern culture is a far cry from Askıda Ekmek. Every act of kindness is either monetised or publicised. Somewhere along the way we have become a culture that has reduced human value to productivity metrics.

Companies announce charitable donations in press releases. People publicly announcing volunteer work. Names next to GoFundMe donations on digital ledgers. Charity work and marching for causes….but only for the ones that are trending on social media of course.

 The camera is always rolling, the audience is always watching, and the applause is always expected.

The Cracks 

And this is one of the many ways a society fractures.

People aren't inspired to perform acts of kindness for others because they've probably never been shown genuine kindness themselves. When you grow up in a world where every gesture has strings attached and every helping hand comes with an invoice, why would you think to give freely? You don't know how.

And even when people do try, when someone does attempt a genuine act of kindness without needing recognition, the response is often devastating. The receiver acts entitled. Almost with an expectation that this is owed to them, that your kindness is their due.  So eventually you stop. You blend into the crowd instead of being the thoughtful fool.

As kids, connection came easy. We didn’t overthink intentions or status, we just played with whoever was around. As an adult, life becomes layered with responsibility, self-protection and a quiet distrust from lived experiences. Guarded performances called “being busy”. Transactional kindness adds another layer in a society that’s already suffering from a loneliness epidemic. When everything is broadcasted, it’s hard to believe in a sincerity that can last long enough to build connections.

Everyone retreats into themselves. We walk around in bubbles. Earbuds in, eyes down, convinced that everyone else is out for themselves so we'd better be too.

Sky King 

On August 10, 2018, Richard “Beebo” Russell stole a plane. The Internet would later call him Sky King.

He was 29 years old. He worked ground service at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. One of those jobs where you're essential but invisible. Where you keep the machinery running but hardly anyone knows your name. Richard climbed into an empty Horizon Air Q400 turboprop, fired up the engines, and took off. Without training, without clearance, without any plan beyond flying.

Nobody knows the real story behind why Richard Rusell did what he did besides the words he said over the 2-way radio.

“ I’m just a broken guy…got a few screws loose, I guess. Never really knew it until now”

For the next hour, he performed a barrel roll and manoeuvres that should have been impossible for someone with no flight training. And his voice over the radio was calm. He joked, apologised and reflected mid-air. Almost as if he was narrating his own goodbye. Analysts and psychologists later framed it as a spontaneous suicide driven by loneliness, identity loss, and quiet despair.

The mystery isn’t only why he did it, but why so many people understood him when he did.

In that final hour, he spoke about how beautiful everything looked from up there. He sounded almost at peace. As if for the first time in who knows how long, Richard Russell could breathe. He was free from the ground, the expectations and the grind. And though it ended tragically, I think people relate because in that final hour, he was truly free.

The Act

But we must learn to spot those who need a hand to stand up and those who embrace their inner bitch. Energy vampires and soul goblins.

Kindness isn’t entertaining people with victim mentalities or enabling those who wallow in self-pity. We need to identify someone who is genuinely struggling and someone who has made their suffering their identity and expects the world to revolve around their pain.

The obvious signs are constant whinging, zero accountability and openly sharing drama. Subtle attention seeking through the need to highlight all the good things they do and the unfairness of the life.

 Avoid like the plague.

The Fool

Sky King exists because we stopped hanging bread on hangers for those who need it. Many relate to his story because we've all had moments where we couldn't breathe under the weight of simply existing. We've built a world where people are drowning in plain sight, and it feels like no one cares enough to help without needing to know your story or judge your worthiness. Sky King didn’t come out of madness, but out of silence. Out of a world that knows how to evaluate and record everything, except how to truly see someone.

We are all, in our own way, Sky King. And we can all choose to be the fool.

 The fool who still believes in genuine kindness. The fool who lets people call them naive.

Do it anyway.

Be the silent witness who holds space for those who choose to be the fool and offer a blind eye to preserve others dignity.

Do it because in a world that rewards spectacle over humility and a culture that rewards speed over patience…your foolish act may be the one thing that stops someone from climbing into the cockpit.

 But do it.

 Because the alternative is a world where everyone is flying alone,

and none of us are coming back down.