Mourning

Would you know my name

If I saw you in heaven?

Would it be the same

If I saw you in heaven?

I must be strong and carry on

'Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven

I was listening to 'Tears in Heaven' by Eric Clapton on my way to the cemetery. The song still meant a lot because of one particular incident that shook me back in high school.

Back in junior high school when I heard the news of a female freshman student committing suicide as a result of bullying. Her name was Cynthia, 14, a Chinese-Filipino like me, long black hair and a petite figure to go along with it.

Cynthia was a very intelligent student, graduating first honorable mention in sixth grade. She was also a talented gymnast who dreamed of becoming an Olympic gold medal winner someday.

However, Cynthia also had a terrible childhood. Her first experience with bullies came in third grade when an unnamed classmate mocked her diminutive stature and even went as far as calling her a malnourished girl.

Cynthia tried several times to request the school principal to move her to a different section for the sake of her safety, but was refused. To this day, the principal continues to regret her decisions, saying that it she made a fool out of herself for not allowing a tortured soul to change sections.

For the rest of her life, Cynthia remained classmates with the bully and despite her efforts to ignore and focus on studies and training, she could not escape the repeated taunts from him. Then came the fateful incident that shook our campus.

I remembered reading the newspaper one morning when this horrific report on Cynthia's death alarmed me. At 10:00 p.m. of Tuesday night, Cynthia's body was found lying on the bed, still wearing her school uniform and her remains bathing in a pool of blood.

A knife was discovered beside Cynthia along with a suicide note. It read:

"Thank goodness the emotional pain and humiliation my tortured soul endured has finally ended. No more will I suffer terribly from the violent abuses and grave injustices that people threw against me. I am in a good place now."

The autopsy report said that Cynthia stabbed herself ten times: five wounds in the chest and five in the stomach. Based on the suicide note, the motive for taking her life became obvious: she was constantly bullied to the point that Cynthia intended to end her life.

The entire campus was in shock. All of us, especially Cynthia's classmates, wept when we heard the news.

Classes were suspended for three days to mourn Cynthia's death. At her funeral, one of her classmates tearfully eulogized her, saying she was "a peaceful soul who wanted nothing more than joy and love, but whose life was cruelly taken away by another one's heinous actions."

I sobbed uncontrollably while looking at Cynthia's body, unable to bear sight of a lifeless corpse seemingly sleeping in peace. She was elegantly dressed in her school uniform, her innocent face very serene and quiet, with no visible sign of distress all over.

"Why would they do this to her? Why?" I questioned as Michelle and Ella restrained me.

Cynthia's burial was just as emotional. Every one of us offered one final look at her body, but just as my sorrowful eyes cautiously approached the coffin, I suddenly fainted into Michelle and Ella's arms.

I never saw Cynthia again after that, all the emotional stress clearly permeated my body. And so, on what was supposed to be her 20th birthday, a personal visit to the grave provided much-needed closure.

After promptly placing a basket of flowers and lit a candle on her marked grave, I began to talk intimately at the heavens, as if Cynthia was looking peacefully at me.

"Cynthia, I know you're somewhere along the sky. These lovely flowers and a candle are for you. Happy birthday, Cynthia."

I offered a prayer to Cynthia, blew a candle on her behalf, and paid my respects. Upon making my way out, I suddenly bumped into a stranger.

"Who are you?" the stranger inquired me.

But before telling the stranger about my name, I directed something on her chest. It was Cynthia's lovely picture, which meant she was visiting her grave as well.

"Wait, you were one of Cynthia's classmates?" I inquired her back.

"Affirmative," she replied eagerly. "My name is Sarah, and you're... Christine?"

"How did you know my name?" I clarified to Sarah.

"Well, I recognized your picture in the college newspaper as one of the contributing writers. No wonder you looked so familiar," Sarah said humbly, her rosy face astonished at what she saw.

It turned out that Sarah is a schoolmate of Michelle, Ella and myself. She had just completed her third year as a political science student and is now entering her fourth.

We sat down on Cynthia's grave and began to talk about her. Throughout our conversation, Sarah remarked at how wonderful a friend Cynthia really was, and that it was her brilliance as a student which astonished her a lot.

But then Sarah revealed that she regretted not helping her best friend at the direst of times. She felt like a failure to her, that her inability to defend Cynthia from those tormentors led to her demise.

It was then that Sarah cried on my arms, mentioning there was a sense of guilt and shame that flooded her heart. She even went as far as saying that her wish was to be in the same grave as Cynthia.

But in the end, Sarah vowed to stay strong for Cynthia and to always be in her heart. After a heartfelt embrace, Sarah gently kissed her grave and told she would visit again soon.

In that one peaceful afternoon, I gained a new friend. After the visit to the cemetery, Sarah and I ate some lunch and then we went our separate ways, vowing to meet again someday.

There are still three weeks away from a new school year. Oh how time instantly flies.