***Disclaimer: content contains suicide***

dear diary,

i wish i had been gifted with bliss.

i wish i could open my eyes to the smiling sun every morning

and giddily accept the world as it is, not wasting 

a precious moment to think about everything 

and anything bad. 

some say bliss isn’t worth it, that once you see and 

accept the troubles of humankind, 

the acceptance is even sweeter.

but is it worth that lifetime of struggle?

i say no, personally. the struggle to achieve acceptance is

a long, difficult journey, worse than words can possibly describe. 

first, there is a long period of intense depression that hits 

you once you have the first epiphany of what life and society are, 

then comes a rush of worthlessness when accepting

there isn’t much you can do. 

if you escape both of those stages, 

acceptance is your well deserved award.

here’s the funny part. you only get to live 

in acceptance for a tiny fraction of your life, 

the part near death that couldn’t possibly

change the path of the bulk of your sad life.

hahaha. 

i’m at the stage where i feel worthless accepting everything

as it is. fortunately, i am past those years of 

feeling too miserable to do my favorite things,

despising my family and friends,

and desperately wanting my body in a coffin

miles under the dewy grass. now that i am at

stage two, i really don’t think i can do it over again. 

i don’t have the energy or the willpower. 

more importantly, i can’t sit back and 

let the meaninglessness of life be the truth. 

i can’t accept that we are born and bred to work

as automatons in order to graduate and rise in our job

standings to even more tireless positions. i can’t even accept 

the lifestyles of all play, no work as constant play ever so quickly

numbs your happiness, or those who work tirelessly to be known.

they will inevitably be forgotten once humans die out and the earth 

is scorched and then their legacies they worked so hard for will be 

pointless.

why are we put on earth to live like this?

i’m ending it now by my choice, 

not because i want to but because i have to. 

i never understood why people fear death.

death is the unknown realm, maybe the freeness

we all need. so why not take the chances

before it’s too late?

i have nothing to lose. 

she is

a good-- sorry. she, she was a good kid:

naturally brilliant, incredibly curious,

unbridled with enthusiasm even from a young age. 

she always had the sweetest smile on her face

and the most charming laugh on the 

tip of her tongue. she took the most challenging

classes she could and maintained near perfect marks,

had a lovely group of friends-- and was generally

well liked at school-- and excelled

in a plethora of extracurricular activities.

i never knew that i would wake up to this girl

just hanging. hanging lifeless, from-- from the 

rafters in her room. i never expected this 

pure girl to have suicidal thoughts. i never thought i would 

have to live to see the day my own child dies before my eyes. 

she was always so happy and maybe that in itself

should’ve raised my suspicions that she was hiding 

something deeper. but parents never jump to that 

conclusion because they are happy when their kids are happy. 

i can’t help but to think this is all my fault, 

not consoling her when she needed it. 

i don’t think i could’ve provided 

the help she needed because her thoughts were far past 

my comprehension and that breaks my heart since i

couldn’t do the one duty i am supposed to do as a mother: 

care for my child.

the things she could’ve done, all the 

possibilities that could’ve sprouted from 

her being haven’t left my mind since the day

she died. she could’ve been the valedictorian. she 

could’ve gotten her dream career as a defense lawyer. 

she could’ve defended innocent people, saved them from a 

life of horror, gave the people their much needed justice. she could’ve 

married and had a husband and some children. she could’ve provided a man 

with the most happiness in the world and brought new lives of wonder and joy into this world. 

she could’ve done great things.

dead.

my sister is dead. the only other person

crafted from the same blood, flesh and bone,

the only person who truly understood me, really

loved me with all her might, is a dead girl.

i couldn’t cry when i saw her 

because it was impossible

for me to register that my big sister 

was just a concept. i sat in shock for days, 

until outside my window i saw 

two young sisters walking in the street. 

it then occurred to me that i will never get

to her hear voice or listen to her

laugh or see her smile ever again.

then i cried and cried and cried til

i couldn’t breathe or see out of my eyes or talk.

i wanted to stop crying, so badly, because

crying over her life was an understatement

and those tears wouldn’t bring her back or patch my broken heart,

yet tears kept rolling down my cheeks.

i can’t accept her death because in my mind, 

that would associate me with giving up on her spirit, 

with being compliant with her death. 

after i saw her last words, as hard as it was, 

i accepted that she never wanted your life, she wanted to be free

from the bounds of humanity. that’s when i finally understood the real her, 

when it was too late. when her truth was already cut short.