Wish you had

I vaguely remember what happened. It was a memory that I wasn’t proud of, a memory I tried to bury deep in the recesses of my mind.

But I can still picture the scene. You, moping, seated at the corner of your dark, gloomy room. It was not an unfamiliar sight. You’ve been doing that for years – only this time, you were holding a knife. Or was it a blade?

That was the closest you came to hurting yourself. And I am not sure what it was about.

That was six years ago.

For years I’ve told myself – that was your most stupid moment; a time when you actually revealed how weak you are. You weren’t even broken hearted. I know, because you’ve never really fallen in love, at least at the time. You did not fail a subject either, because you just don’t, at least at the time.

But I know how you felt. You felt like you’re a failure.

Now I know that you – or I – shouldn’t be ashamed of that; because believe it or not, six years later, I’m back at the corner of the room, at 3am, thinking what the fuck happened with my life. I don’t have a knife or a blade with me, at least not right now. I don’t think I’m as brave as you were before. And sometimes I hate myself for that.

Indeed, what the fuck happened with my life? I’d say a lot, and a little, at the same time.

I’ve always wanted to be a journalist. And here I am, six years later, working as one for a major daily. That’s on top of the other things that I do, for myself and (I believe) for the country.

I’m living the dream, some say. I still don’t have the financial capability to buy my own car or condominium unit, but I’ve already exceeded the expectations of most of the people who were around me while I was growing up (not that they were expecting a lot from me).

But here I am, moping, at 3am, at the corner of my dark, gloomy room.

Don’t get me wrong. I love what I do. I love who I am. I love where I am right now. But that doesn’t mean I’m happy.

Happiness, it seems, is more than achieving what you wanted to achieve when you were a child; because if there’s one thing that I’ve learned about growing old, it’s the reality that the list grows longer every time you take a step toward your coffin.

And I have committed the worst mistake of all: I kept myself focused on my old list – not noticing that the new entries are already starting to drown me. I grew old, but did not grow up.

Now I’m back to where you were before. Only now I cannot undo the things I have done in the last six years.

I hope I’m not too late.

You know what, I’ve always thanked you for not doing the thing you thought of doing that night. But when moments like these happen, and it’s happened a lot in the past months, I just wish you had.

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