if my world was ending
TW // mentions death
Once I reached the end of my story, I imagined my book of life to be archived somewhere in the corner of this universe. That’s how I visualize when everything in my timeline is over. I want to be an archived book. A published one, not a paperback, but a hardcover that encapsulates the pages between the documented variety of stories. Printed inside were paragraphs of every struggle, every win, and every mystery that screams alikeness to what other people try to decipher.
I look forward to the last sentence and period used at the very end of my narrative. I wonder what would’ve happened before I closed my eyes, right before the last seven minutes projected until I take one last breath. I used to crave that addicting feeling that felt like a medicine to an unknown sickness inside me. I was so certain of leaving, not living.
The four corners of my room were my theater where I performed acts I hid from the eyes of society. I tried to dance with my demons who were always there and sing my heart out until I couldn’t recognize my voice anymore. Inside my room, I have a spotlight meant for me. I am the main character with a villain’s heart who wants to disappear from the chaotic world. If vanishing is the only way to gain peace, who am I to turn it down?
As I continued to execute movements inside, I knew for sure I was waiting for a particular audience who would cast a verdict on whether I was qualified to publish my book or not. But the music in my head stopped. No visitor is knocking on my door. Pictures of people were bombarding my mind nonstop. It flashed moments where my mom brought me milk in the middle of the night, friends who listened and witnessed my bare heart without judgment, and strangers smiled and became part of my support system more than my relatives could ever do.
These little moments saved me. Instead of dreaming of being a published book, I started writing and sharing my words. I picked up my pen and began translating my thoughts into words and there it is, life extracted bright colors from the spectrum that exploded.
I never knew I wouldn’t find breathing a chore anymore when I wanted more air to embrace my lungs. Looking back, I thanked the heavens for rejecting my application to archive my story. At this moment in my life, I am happy that death started to scare me.
Because do you know what’s more scary than living? It’s when you find the will to live and feels like you’re already running out of pages. The future is ours to write, right? Let me live some more. Allow me to imprint and craft more beautiful stories in my book.
If ever in the future you stumbled upon my book, I hope you read it with grace just like how I spent time writing it. If it finds you, I hope you learn lessons from me — a mere stranger who is just passing by.
If my world was ending, I hope not tomorrow.
September which happens to be my birth month is suicide prevention month. This article is written to remind us that even if darkness is isolating us sometimes, we are never alone. Let this be a reminder that our presence matters, we matter. To my readers, whatever you’re facing right now, I hope you find the strength to overcome it. Thank you for being here. Thank you for choosing to exist even if it’s hard.
