At the age of 16, I despised stepping out of my room the most.

 

At the age of 16, I didn’t Google the profile of any actor or actress or K-POP bias or whatsoever.  Instead, I cooped in my room Googling for suicide know-hows.

 

At the age of 16, I didn’t collect any winning trophies or medals.  Instead, I collect scars on my wrists and arms.

 

At the age of 16, I had no crime record under my name.  I instead had multiple files in multiple hospitals under my name, with suicide attempts written in nearly half of them.

 

At the age of 16, I realized I am nowhere near any other normal teenager my age.

 

Just like that, another year passed.  I turned 17 and grew older.

 

At the age of 17, I thought that nothing is going to change.  It’s just going to be another year of pretending, of masking whatever I am feeling inside with a happy smile, only to later realize, that I thought wrong. 

 

At the age of 17, she I met her.

At the age of 17, I found a confidence in a form of a woman with the prettiest smile and melodious laugh.

 

At the age of 17, I fell in love with a woman who filled her closet with nothing less than Gucci or Prada.

 

I was sitting on my seat, minding my own business amidst the chaotic class. Nobody would really mind me anyway; I was just the elephant in the room in their eyes.  The freaky one that teachers would always burdened you to be friend with.  The weird angsty one that everyone would just casts sympathetic glance upon.

 

Suddenly, the homeroom, teacher walked in, with her on tow.  She was wearing our school’s uniform, with her purple bag hanging loosely on one of her shoulder.

 

“She’s a new kid, please be nice to her.  Please, do assign her a seat,” said the teacher, before he walked himself out.

 

The big exam is coming soon, why would she transfer now?

 

I thought as I continue to stare at the new kid, standing awkwardly right in front of the class.  She was shifting on one leg after another while answering the constant questions being thrown her way.  I guess, there is another elephant in the room now.  Different is, this elephant is pretty enough, too pretty actually, to attract the attention of the predators in this class.

 

So I stop minding.  Crossing my arms on the table, I placed my head on top of my arms and closed my eyes, tuning the chaos out. 

 

My eyes snapped open when I heard loud screeching sound of a chair being pulled right next to me.  Turning my head to the side, I am startled to see her face up close, a smile adorning on her face.

 

“Hello there,” she greeted, holding her right hand up and waves.  Ignoring her, I turned to the other side and bury my face in my arms. 

 

It was peaceful between us without her making another attempt to talk to me.  I was about to fall asleep when I felt the poke on my shoulder.  Grumbling, I turned to her side only to be face to face with the yellow sticky note that my classmate had given me earlier.

 

 

Nobody loves you.

Nobody likes you.

Nobody thinks you’re smart.

Nobody thinks you’re cool.

Nobody feels for you.

Nobody wants to be your friend.

 

Uncrossing my arms, I was about to snatch the piece of paper away when I noticed the little footnote at the bottom, with freshly written ink.

P.s. I hope my name doesn’t scare you away

“Or did I?” she asksed with her little voice, pulling the paper back, much nearer to her face.  Still at lost, I keep my mouth shut as I stare at her with my usual blank stare, which usually is lethal enough to shoo away any potential friend or strangers.

“I did?”

Letting out a puff of air, I raised my right hand up and snatch the paper away.  I crumpled the paper into a ball before shoving it deep into the drawer of my desk, together with the other notes that I have receive so far.

“Moon ByulE,” I said, curtly, and her lips blossomed into the prettiest smile I have ever seen.

It was the first day, the beginning of our friendship, of our journey. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fast forward to a few months later, we were much closer than before.  I found a friend in the ‘Nobody’ called Kim Yongsun.

I found a solace, a shoulder to lean on, a pair of ears to listen to my spoken words and stories.  Most importantly, I found a heart that understands my unspoken words, insecurities and fears. 

Suddenly, pretending was not that hard anymore.  It came to a point where I had to question myself sometimes.  Whether the happiness that I felt was really just pretence or was I pretending that it was all pretence.

With her, I shared all.

My dreams.

My fears.

Even my failed suicide attempts.

“This is so lame,” I joked as I stuck the purple sticky notes on one of my wall, together with tens of other purple sticky notes, “where did you even read this?”

Your neck isn’t a shirt, don’t hang it.

Your skin isn’t a paper, don’t cut it.

Your heart isn’t a door, don’t lock it.

Your life isn’t a film, so don’t end it.

Smiling and sighing at the same time, she lifts her off my bed and walked to me.  She then reached for my arms, pushing my sleeves up, revealing the old and new scars on my arms.

“Suicide is just another temporary solution to a permanent problem,” she said, running her finger along the scars on my left arm.

“Would you not end your life if I tell you not to?” her eyes bore into mine as she asked.

“What’s the point of living when you have no reason to,” pulling my arms out of her hold, I walked to my bed and lay on top of it, right arms on my forehead as if dreaming of a near future, “If I die, I would no longer have to go to school and I won’t be the ugly elephant in the room anymore.  I won’t have to listen to the stupid names the kids called me and their insults.  If I die, I won’t have to fear of failing my exam and disappointing my mom. If I die, I can stop pretending. If I die, mom could stop worrying about me.  If I die, if I die,”

By the end of my ‘if I die’ speech, a small smile etched on my lips.  I felt the way the corner of my eyes winkled up and the way that the corner of my lips lifted. 

“But you can’t die!” she shouted from across the room, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Why can’t I? I don’t want to be alive anymore, so why can’t I just die?” I sat up and shouted back.  It was fortunate that my mom was not home, or she would have been so disappointed to know that her daughter whom she believed to be finally fine was nowhere near fine at all.

“Why won’t you want to be alive anymore?”

“Would you just listen to me when I say I have no reason to stay alive?”

“What about your mom?” she had stopped shouting; her voice was barely above whisper at this point.

“She’d finally have one less burden on her shoulder, one less mouth to feed,”

“If …” she dragged as she looked around the room, “if I give you reason to live, would you not end your life?”

“Maybe?”

“Promise me,” she urged.

Shrugging my shoulder, I replied, “tell me about it and I might consider,”

Her eyes twinkled as her lips spread into a smile. Seeing it, I flinched as I felt tingly sensation against my ribcage where my heart beats.

“Live up my dreams,” she answered, still with the sweet smile etched on her face.

“Why would I live up your dreams? You do it yourself,”

She walked over and took a seat next to me on the bed.  Her left hand reached for mine, and paced it in hers as she stared at our picture hanging on the walls across.

“If we’re lucky, I might even live up my dreams with you,” a faraway look fell upon her face.

“Tell me about your dreams,” I said, intertwining our fingers together.

 

 

FEW YEARS LATER

“You were the light to my dark days, you give me the reason to live and for that I love you,” I confess as I pull a purple velvety case out from my pocket.

 “Kim Yongsun, I have fallen for you.  I don’t know if this is true, but my hunch is I have fallen for you since the moment you showed me the scribble on that stupid nobody yellow sticky note,” I nervously chuckle and wiped the nonexistence sweat on my fore head before focusing back on her.

“Yongsun, I love you.  , I love you so much.  I love you when you smile, when you cry, when you laugh.  I love you when you’re frustrated, angry and cursing.  I love you at my lowest point and at yours.  I love you, with your flaws, insecurities, fears and all,”

Pulling the ring out, I continue, “Do you notice that up until now, I have never used past tense on you?  Because my feelings for you is not just something in the past, I loved you then and I still love you now, with your flaws, broken promise and all,”

I paused, giving myself a few moment for what I am about to say next, “Yongsun-ah, my Nobody.  I am living your dreams, with you in my heart,”

I took another pause to my dry lips.

“I have a stable job now, as you already know.  And I adopted a cute baby girl recently, her name is Wheein.  She is now a Moon obviously. And I am getting married in,” I look at my wristwatch, “7 hours, the bridesmaid must be in a frenzy mood right now because apparently one of the bride is missing,” I laughed, humourlessly.

“You see Yongsun-ah.  I love my soon-to-be wife, I really do.  But you’re my first love and I think it’s unfair because I won’t ever have the chance to propose to you, so let me just do it now before I have to rush to my wedding,”

I get down on one knee, raising the ring up to the level of the glass with a plate written the name Kim Yongsun in chinese character before I asked, “Kim Yongsun, the love of my life, my forever Nobody, would you marry me?”

 

FLASHBACK

I was about to sleep when my phone beeped and a notification popped up on my screen. – a message from Kim Yongsun.

I looked at the time and frowned, it was almost midnight.  It was so out of character of her to still be awake during this time.  Curious, I clicked on her message; only to get more curious of the content.

My Nobody

11:56p.m

 

At the end of the day, we’re just suicidal kids telling other suicidal kids that suicide isn’t the solution.  A promise that was meant to be broken is not meant for the people that you held at heart.

 

Thinking it was just another quotes that she read from somewhere, I locked my phone and place it on the mini table next to my bed. 

 

Her message was left on read, only to regret the next day when the news of her committing suicide reached me.

 

I spent few weeks later wondering of what ifs.

 

What if I replied to her text that night?

 

What if I had called her instead?

 

Then I realized I knew of what was going on in her life – such as she bought another Gucci bag and Channel dress.  But not what is in her head.  So, I decided to take up psychology, just to figure her out.

 

It took me another several years before I could finally figure her out, or close to figure her out.

 

She hated the colour black, because that was how her world has always been for her.

 

She used nothing less than Gucci because at least there was something on her, other than her self-worth that she can name a price on.

 

She combed her hair every now and then not to look pretty, but because she can’t settle for less than perfect.

 

How could she, when perfection was the only expectation from the people around her.  How could she, when perfection was the only way to gain her parent’s interest on her.

 

My name is Moon ByulE, a once suicidal kid who met another.  Now, I am living the dreams of the once suicidal kid who saved me, but could not save herself.  This is a tale of mine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Tell me about your dreams,” I said intertwining our fingers.

 

She leant her head on my shoulder, and let a puff of air out before she answered, “I dream to have a stable job, stable life and a family of my own.  I would love to have a daughter and a wife whom I could look forward to seeing at every hour of the day. Now my dream is yours,” and she ended with a soft, shy peck on my cheeks.

The idea of this story started when I read a comment on Youtube – we’re just suicidal kids telling other suicidal kids that suicide isn’t the solution.

 

This is written in a rush because I had to, before I lost the inspiration.  I did no proofread because I want to maintain the rawness of the idea (I know I’d change here and there if I proofread).

 

Last, thank you for reading and I hope this story came to at least half of your expectation.