Back to Earth

By: Elián Zidán

Nine months stranded in space.

Imagine that—launching into orbit for what was supposed to be an eight-day mission, only to end up stuck in space for nearly a year. That’s exactly what happened to astronauts Suni Williams and Butch Wilmore, who—beyond their years of training—proved they had unshakable patience, resilience, and trust in science.

The spacecraft that was meant to bring them home failed. And with every delay, their return became more uncertain. While they continued circling Earth from above, life on the ground kept moving: wars broke out, elections came and went, power changed hands. The world spun forward—without them.

It’s ironic, really. In an era when we talk about space tourism, Mars colonies, and interplanetary travel, we still can’t guarantee a safe return ticket home.

Like a sci-fi movie playing out in real life, Williams and Wilmore were left orbiting the planet, waiting for a ride back—staring at Earth every day, but unable to touch it.

Over those long nine months (the length of a pregnancy), they missed plenty—especially the simple things. Suni Williams longed for one in particular: a latte. Not just any latte, but the one her husband makes at home.

Eventually, after delay upon delay, NASA and SpaceX managed to launch a rescue mission. The moment the astronauts met their replacements aboard the ISS was powerful—after months of solitude, they finally saw other human faces.

Then came the journey back to Earth, followed closely by the world. The splashdown was smooth, textbook perfect. But as the rescue teams approached their capsule, a question lingered: How do you rediscover Earth after so long watching it from afar?

How much did they crave the feel of ocean breeze, the warmth of sunlight on their skin, the grounded weight of their own bodies? Because you don’t just miss Earth in your mind—you miss it with your senses, with your bones, with your whole being.

When the hatch finally opened, there they were. But they didn’t walk out to greet the world—they were carried out on stretchers. That’s when it hit me: the human body simply isn’t made for zero gravity.

In the joy of their return, it’s easy to forget the toll.

I spoke with doctors and space medicine specialists. They explained that when your body floats for months without gravity, your bones weaken, muscles deteriorate, your heart changes shape and becomes less efficient. Blood shifts in your body, pressure builds behind your eyes, vision fades. Your immune system falters, and cosmic radiation leaves invisible damage that raises your cancer risk.

And then there’s the psychological cost—months of isolation, no physical contact, and the relentless monotony of space. How do you stay sane when days aren’t marked by sunrises or sunsets, but by a constant loop of orbits around a world you can see… but never reach?

And yet, as always, the trolls showed up on social media. Some mocked their appearance. Others made snide comments about Williams’ hair.

It’s hard to be surprised anymore. The lack of empathy, of values, just keeps growing.

But the return of Williams and Wilmore is more than a space story. It’s a reminder—not just of the challenges of space exploration, but of the value of home.

Earth is still the only place where the human body thrives naturally, where gravity holds us effortlessly, where we breathe freely without suits or tanks.

And yet, we’re doing our best to destroy it—with our habits, our choices, our apathy.

There’s nothing wrong with dreaming about the stars. But living among them? That’s something else entirely.

Because even the bravest—those who’ve seen the infinite blackness of space and the beauty of Earth from above—eventually want to come back.

Back to this planet we’ve taken for granted. Back to the wind, the sun, and the smell of a simple, homemade latte.