One Because of a Thousand Whys (Novellete)

PART THREE: THE STORY

PART THREE: THE STORY

"COULD you please hand it back to me?" I whispered. "Let's just mind each other's business. And just forget what I've said."

"But you're my business. Therefore, I would mind you and look after you."

This man was indeed crazy! How could I be his business?

"Yo! Let's just make a deal, okay? Tell me why you want to kill yourself. Tell me your story. If it's more miserable than mine, then I'm more than willing to give these sleeping pills to you."

I arched my eyebrow. "For your information, those medicines are mine, and you're not going to give them to me because you are going to give them back."

His lips turned into a thin line, and his eyes twinkled in mischief! See? He wasn't really serious!

I glared at him. And then he burst into laughter.

I just sat back on the swing. "As if your life was miserable. It doesn't reflect on you, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah it doesn't reflect on me because my handsome face looks so fresh while..." He narrowed his eyes at me. "While your problems are written all over your face because you look so haggard and ugly! Oops! Sorry, just saying the truth!" He laughed.

When I didn't answer him, he bent his knee and his forefinger scribbled on the wet soil.

"Look at this." He beckoned to me. "Come here."

I rolled my eyes. "Just give me back my thing!"

"Yo! Describe my drawings first."

"A dot and a line," I answered. "Now, give my meds back."

"Wrong!" He pointed his finger at the dot. "This is a cat." Then, his finger went to the line. "And this is a dog."

I creased my forehead. Confirmed! Crazy!

"They don't look like a cat and a dog to me."

"And you'd never know what they are unless I explained it to you." He sat on the vacant swing next to me. "That's also like judging someone's story," he said. "People will always arrive at their conclusion because they don't know the real story. They will just always choose to judge rather than try to understand because it's easier to make up your version of the story than to analyze the real story and put yourself in someone else's shoes." He shrugged. "Perhaps in this world, there's still someone who will try to understand and analyze a story first... only if the writer is willing to tell and explain? Perhaps, that someone is handsome? And perhaps that handsome is me. "

He flashed his bright smile as he wiggled his eyebrows. "Tell me why you want to end your life. Promise! I'll just listen. And understand."

At that time, his smile seemed to have the power to persuade me to tell my story. And I just found myself succumbing to what he wanted.

"When I was a kid, I viewed life as a mesmerizing star that no one could it turn into an ugly, black stone. However, in this world, the only permanent thing is change—it is the only thing that lasts forever. Therefore, my beliefs changed when I was seven years old, as my parents became the people whom I thought they would never be. My father became a drug addict, and I witnessed how he hurt my mother physically and emotionally. He even asked my mother to enter a club and be a prostitute to satisfy his addiction to drugs. We were nothing at that time; or I must say, we had nothing, so my mother decided to be a prostitute."

"It was difficult for me to watch my mother being used by different men and just being thrown away like trash afterward. So, I promised that I would give my best to study hard, that I would give my life to finish my studies to save my mother from being drowned in that dirty mud... but it was not as easy as I had thought because I got bullied. My classmates? My teachers? They all mocked a child like me. They all insulted the kind of family that I had. And all I could do was cry silently. At times, I just wanted to give up my studies, but every time I saw my mother's state---it somehow made me stronger. She became my strength; and by her mere presence, it fueled this empty heart of mine to keep on fighting despite this body full of bullets."