Chapter 1: A story once told
Such feeling of peace and tranquillity, Never would I imagine myself feeling extreme ecstasy from my own death, while slowly drifting to the cold ocean bed, my mind wanders—searching for a place of comfort and warmth.
How soothing, I am drowning and in pain but I feel free and happy, I suppose this means my long time wish finally came through.
I wonder what my family would think, how they would react knowing I finally succeeded after 20 years of suffering. It seems I have lost my sanity and humanity but isn't that a win, in this world filled with pain and suffering, Wouldn't death be considered a better way to escape and be free?. Although it seems very cowardly, I think my life ending now is a good and faithful thing.
As the water embraces me coldly, slowly cooling down my warmth and happiness, I feel the weight of my burdens dissipates, while sinking deeper into the cold abyss where the light barely reaches and souls rarely found. The silence is comforting, a stark contrast to the noise that once filled my mind but it seems I am once again alone with my broken mind. My lost memories begin to surface, unbidden, unravelling fragments of a life I barely recognize. I see my mother's face, etched with sadness and sorrow. She always tried to understand, but how could she? I was nothing but a lost soul, a puzzle with too many missing pieces, a lost ship with no guiding light. I wonder if she will find peace in my absence or if my disappearance will carve a deeper wounds into her heart. The water grows colder as I descend down the abyss, yet I feel a strange warmth, I have felt this before, this feeling reminds me of the first time I drowned which awakened a sense of belonging to this vast, cold endless sea. Ah my friends, How will they feel about my absence? Will they see my choice as a betrayal or a final act of courage? Did I let them down once again, or did I finally free them from the burden of saving me? A flicker of doubt and guilt crosses my mind with intent to stay, a whisper that maybe, just maybe, there was another way, but just maybe. But the thought is fleeting, These are nothing but fleeting thoughts of a soul that seem to never give up. But It's too late now. Or is it? I imagine a hand reaching out, pulling me back to the surface, to the world of air and light. Would I take it? Or would I let it slip from my grasp, would i choose the stillness of the ocean over the pain and suffering above? No, i wouldn't want to continue my suffering. The pressure of the ocean builds around me, Suffocating me even more with intentsto destroy every ounce of oxygen in my body, but my mind is calm and the pain is gone. I close my eyes, choosing embracing the darkness with a body of acceptance but a soul of guilt and denial, Finally reaching "the finality". But as I do, something stirs within me, A fighting spirit, reaching for a memory, a feeling, a reason to fight and live. It's faint, almost forgotten, but it's there. Do I listen and live? Or do I let it slowly fade away, like the last breath escaping from my lungs?
As I slowly descend into the abyss of my thoughts, the only peaceful place where I escape to , a memory long buried begins to resurface. the day I first felt the gnawing emptiness and crushing realization of life. I was quite young then, only about eight years old, with a mind both fragile, Lonely and impressionable. Yet somehow, even at that tender age, I could understand the harsh realities of the world. the pain, the suffering, and the inevitable hardships that lay ahead. It was in that moment that I understood something very unsettling: I did not want to experience much of this world. This simple but yet profound realization changed my clueless life forever, creating a parasite of unwanted emotions and thoughts which slowly engulf and corrupts my once pure and peaceful soul.
My childhood was far from ideal. Unlike other children who enjoyed the warmth and security giving by parents, I had just my mother, a woman who wanted an unachievable life, Although hardworking, She was unable to gain any realisation , which of course couldn't shield me from the harshness of our existence. We moved frequently and never had the opportunity to call a place "Home". Much of my early years were spent in the care of various family members who were sometimes abusive, or simply indifferent and neutral. Our financial situation was precarious at best, and I learned quickly not to burden my mother with requests she couldn't fulfil.
Surprisingly, I had a father too, though he was more concerned with his second family instead of us, I was never aware of his existence not until I was seven years old, this was the age when I first met him. He stayed with us for about a week, just long enough to ask me what my dream was, this was quite foreign to me but I answered.
"A footballer," I said.
"A footballer? Why football?" he asked, his tone more curious than concerned.
"Because I like playing football," I exclaimed with the forced cheerfulness of a child.
But the truth was, I didn't like football at all and i was never good at it. My true interest layed in the medical field, a passion crafted by my mother's profession as a nurse. Our home was filled with her medical books and equipment, I devoured them eagerly with a yearning passionate heart, fascinated by the complexities and design of the human body. I dreamed of becoming a surgeon,A healer, I dreamed of one day holding a scalpel and saving lives. It was a dream that filled me with purpose, Pushing me to devote my time studying medical books until i finally woke up from the Dream of a good life, A life of success is nothing but delusion and lies.
I realized Dream are nothing more than fuel created for the mind, a way to keep you moving forward in a world that rewards with more pain and suffering, A world in which we are all powerless. Dreams can drive you, motivate you, but they also enslave you. Your happiness, your hope, all becomes tied to those dreams, and if you achieve them, you feel sense of fulfilment and happiness. But if you don't and you feel nothing but utter despair, as most of us sadly have , what awaits is a void filled with depression, sadness deep it consume and strip you of your sanity, living nothing but an empty shell that wishes to pass and never return.
This bitter understanding washed over me like a tidal wave, drowning every remnants of my childhood innocence. For the first time, I confronted the terrifying possibility that there might be nothing to work for, nothing to live for. And in that moment, a part of me, the part that once dared to dream, slowly withered away, Lost and never to be found.
My father's subtle visit left more questions than answers. He seemed to exist in a different universe, one where I was nothing but a fleeting thought. His sudden questions about my future though seemingly casual stirred something in me, A strange wave of hate towards him, I suppose this was due to the fact that he was never there but had the choice to change my future and desires. that week passed, and so did he, back again in his universe that always seem to hide my existence, leaving me to grapple with the remnants of my unspoken hopes and dreams that keep him alive in my universe. His absence was nothing new, but this time, it felt heavier, as if the weight of his neglect had finally settled on my small shoulders. I finally understood that I never had a Father but a stranger who sees my future as an opportunity for his own personal gain.