Updated: Nov 4, 2022
I've always been the one who knows what to do, and I assumed that's how the mind works. Something I didn't realize was that not everyone is privileged and aware enough to consider it.
Every time I hear that someone young has taken their own life, my heart breaks, and the part that haunts me the most is how could they do such a thing to themselves. Although, talking about it or writing about it is very simple. I mean, we all chat and then lament for a couple of weeks before moving on. It's just so simple.
When I was a kid, I used to play gun-gun with my brother. I still remember how easy it was to get killed or to kill. I used to pretend to be dead by holding my breath. Being a naive kid, I thought that death is the final chapter of one's story. But I was wrong.
I was so young and a visitor to life, unfamiliar with the concept of death. Too young to be aware of death's journals.
I saw death for the first time when my grandfather died. He was lying in his bed, eyes closed. He was quiet and seemed at peace. My parents wouldn't let me go near him, and wouldn't even let me see him since I was too little to understand what was going on. At that moment I thought to myself, "Death is pleasant, Right?" Death allows us to sleep indefinitely, and at the time, I thought it would be so fantastic to never have to go to school or do homework ever again.
But I was confused when I looked around and saw that everyone was crying and sad.
The next time I saw death was when a man in my neighborhood died. People said he was very old and that it had to happen at some point. At that moment I noticed something about death. I thought to myself, "Is this something that happens to all old people?" I heard my parents discussing his heart problems and that his family was unable to cover the costs. They said, "Everything happens for a reason."
Some people carried him on their shoulders and boarded him in the ambulance. I saw it all. I saw far too many people at the funeral who I'd never seen before, and I'm sure they'd never even met him.
Again, I was confused when I looked around and saw that everyone was crying and sad.
Much later when I was 12 years old, I heard my parents while they were watching the news. It said, "a 7-year-old girl was found dead on the outskirts of a city, raped by two young guys. "When I heard this, I couldn't believe it. I was disgusted.
I thought to myself, "Wait, why was death so harsh to her? Death was supposed to be peaceful, Right?" I cried that day.
The rapists were caught and hung to death but how could it make a difference? Killing the rapists wouldn't have brought the little girl back. The media and the law seemed to believe that this was the correct course of action.
And, yet again I was confused because this time when I looked around and saw, everyone was happy and satisfied.
At this point, I was so confused about death. I understood that death was unpredictable.
I asked myself, "What if life was better?" But, let's face it, life was nothing in comparison to death. Death was unpredictable, but life, life was dreadful. Life was a hustle, while death had a silence.
The next time I saw death, it was then I knew I was mistaken the whole time.
One of my friend's mother had committed suicide. I still remember walking to her room and watching her red face and tear-filled eyes.
I could see the hatred, the agitation, and the desperate craving for her mother. At that point, I wondered why did it happen. Why was death so terrible to her?
But when I saw her mother, she seemed to be at rest, and I realized that it wasn't death who had come to her; rather, she had gone to death. I wanted to tell my friend that it was her decision as I stared into her eyes. It would have become so much easier for her. But at that time, I just couldn't.
I went to see her a few days later. She was miserable and still crying. I sat beside her and took her hand in mine. I tried to make her feel at ease. And I told her that her mother did it for herself and that she was at peace.
She paid attention to what I had to say. She sighed and replied a few moments later, "I understand; it was her choice. But, what about me? Am I supposed to find a new mother now? Why didn't she choose to live for the sake of me? There might have been no better reason than me to reconsider leaving. I was her daughter. Why did she go, then?"
I was taken aback. I had nothing to say. I just looked at her and hugged her.
When I came back home, mom and dad were having food and watching T.V. I gave them a friendly smile and went to my room.
I couldn't help but stop thinking about her mother. I thought to myself, "Why would she choose death over life? Was she more fond of death than her daughter?"
It occurred to me that maybe life was the one that forced her to choose death.
Yes, death can be peaceful and unpredictable. But for some people, it's just messed up. It is terrible and certain.
People have an impact on other people's life. I realized this because I never saw my grandfather ever again in my life and if I were that man from my neighborhood, I would've never smoked a cigarette because if I were that little girl, I would have never gone to the forest alone. And if I were her mother, I would've always chosen to live.
This generation's critical, judgmental, and poisoned air is evidence that death will eventually prevail over life. In the end, it is our job to keep our sanity alive. How? Simply by appreciating the importance of life. Every breath of life, I feel, is a debt owed to our mother nature, and the only way to repay her is to live it.
Life is literally like a roller coaster and if you don't put your seat belts tight, you might fall.
All I'd say is that maybe death is waiting for you, just make him wait a little longer.