WHEN SHE DIED

When I saw her die –eyes blurred and pleading – I didn’t cry. I was conjuring fragments of our final conversation five full hours before she took her life and decided her fate. We were seated opposite each other on the dining table. Earlier she had been calling everyone to come to dinner. Nobody came. I did as I was loath to disappoint her, and miss a meal. At 17, I was bubbly and childlike; I chattered a lot about anything. I remember laughing all throughout dinner, telling her stupid stories about school, my teachers, the lessons, as I was wont to. I wasn’t even listening to her comments as I was too engrossed on myself. I do remember her saying in the vernacular: “ubusa na an ta udyan na ini.” (Tell me all your stories, as this would be the last time).

When she died – eyes blurred and pleading – I didn’t cry. I watched her die. But her words which then found their meanings haunted me the rest of my life. How could I have been so insensitive? How could I have not deciphered her thoughts? How could I have missed listening to what she wasn’t saying? I felt guilty. It was my fault. I could have prevented it. I did not. It was my fault. I felt guilty. I could have prevented it. I did not. When I realized there was nothing I could do, even if I died myself, grief clothed the whole of me. I have no words to describe the gnawing pain. It was killing me, slowly. I have never felt anything close to the anguish of death.

The throbbing was made more poignant by anger – I didn’t know who or what I was hating, or why I should even be repulsed by the thought of him who robbed her of her joy. She, in her letter, only had love and affection for the man I could hate for a thousand life times. He was a man of God. I hated both. I was consumed by sorrow and hate, such a powerful combination to deaden the senses. I was numb to everything – I refused to feel the pain as I wouldn’t know how else to live. When I said my last goodbye—finally in tears cold and bitter—I was good as dead.

But I had to live – a life of lie. I tried to stay strong though I could feel the world crumbling apart and shattering into pieces. I never cried; I couldn’t cry. The world went on and on; people came and left. At the end of the road, I found myself, unrecognizable in my newfound strength. I deceived the world. I also deceived myself. That made it insufferable.

Soon, I left home, unable to piece the parts together. I wouldn’t have left, as I never tried doing anything never well thought of. Unfortunately, I allowed myself to be dragged out of my only sanctuary, and from there life was never the same. The desolation took its toll – I got sick, and thought I have lost my sanity. I would have welcomed that better to stop my pain. But, no, as if life wasn’t through with me, I lived...

I said I could take the same path, why not. I could end the harrowing emptiness. Just like her final act, I passed judgment to myself. I wanted to die. I wanted to die so badly, and at once. I lost all human strength. Even my faithful friends who stood by me didn’t matter. Even the family I so cared about didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. I wanted it that way. I didn’t matter, anyway. It was all blurry…